


Stormborn and the Black Dread

by TheScarletGarden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle of the Bastards, Characterization and ages closer to book canon, D&D can go bathe in wildfire, Disney ending and not sorry for it, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I fucked around with the timeline a bit don't mind me, Jonerys, Pining Idiots, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sansa and Dany are going to be BFFs, Sansa is not a bitch because they ruined her character too in the show, Season 6 timeline, Show Jon is a fucking impostor and I don't know him, because FUCK D&D and their offending representation of female relationships, dealing with loneliness, fairytale AU of sorts, lots of magic, slow burn?, somewhat enemies to friends to lovers, we're all about true girl power here, witch!Dany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletGarden/pseuds/TheScarletGarden
Summary: AU. Daenerys is born a few days later. While Viserys is brought to Essos, his sister remains trapped on Dragonstone by the great storm that will be her namesake.Unknowingly to her dying mother, the Princess is born with great powers. A witch hears her wail and seeks the babe out.





	1. Death of the Mothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza.
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

 

 

PROLOGUE | DEATH OF THE MOTHERS

 

A great storm brewed in the distance, one so tremendous Old Amelia hadn't seen in a very long while. Many winters had passed and gone since the last tempest of this kind. The wind howled, and the old witch was sure it would soon be followed by the arrival of terrible thunders.

Amelia felt strangely disquieted. Something about this incoming storm made her feel uneasy, and if there was something that Old Amelia had learned in her long, eventful life, was that she better trust her gut.

The cold wind caressed her wrinkled face and made leaves flutter in the air, littering the great clearing before the red door of the battered shack she called her home.

Squinting her old eyes, she observed the patterns of the leaves in the wind, quietly murmuring a spell in a language of old. She wasn't too keen at using her divination skills often, preferring to live unburdened by the weight of visions and prophecies, but her instincts were telling her today that it might be wise to make an exception to that rule.

 _Follow the storm_ , the wind howled back at her, the dancing of the leaves pointing South-East in an eloquent flutter.

Old Amelia huffed, her tired bones already complaining at the prospect of having to leave her comfortable woods, but when the Old Gods spoke Amelia complied and rarely asked questions. 

* * *

The imposing dark fortress looked even more ominous in the great raging storm that was now unleashing its full power on it. By the time she arrived at her destination, Amelia was drenched and achy but determined to see what it was that had called her here.

She could sense some hostile force getting closer to the great castle, kept at bay by the tempest itself. _Enemy armies. They do not dare to come closer, for the storm would break them,_  she reasoned. _The Old Gods are protecting something on this island._

Amelia thought she would have to use all her cunning and her magical arts to breach inside the keep, but found it, fortunately, depleted of its usually great number of guards. The bulk of them must have fled already from the war that was knocking at its gate, demanding the blood of its inhabitants. She began to wander inside the magnificent building, admiring the imposing dragon-shaped decorations that seemed to adorn every corner of the great castle.

Suddenly, Amelia stopped. She could feel it now, the kindling _power_ emanating from upstairs, a power similar to her own, although more vivid, chaotic, untamed. _Newborn_.

The wail of a baby resonated through the empty halls, and Amelia hastened, walking to some great wooden doors from where she could smell the stench of blood, of new life and oncoming death.

Slowly, carefully, the old witch opened the massive doors, taking in the sight of what was happening in the richly decorated space. A woman was dying, her pale skin covered by a sheer layer of sweat, tears flowing from her purple eyes. Two young handmaidens were hurrying around the room, scared and anxious, unable to help the lady bleeding on the great silken bed. One of them had a little bundle in her arms, from where the mighty wailing came from, a wisp of silver hair peeking from the white cloth, that raw power emanating in waves, calling at her.

_She has the Gift._

The dying mother weakly lifted her head to look at her, furrowing her brows.

“I don't know you, my lady,” she forced out in a laboured breath. The handmaidens stopped in their tracks at that affirmation, casting anxious glances towards the stranger at the door and in between themselves.

For a moment, Amelia was at a loss for words, so she stepped closer to the bed, grasping the hand of the dying Queen in her own, a soft compassionate smile on her face.

“I can't help you, Your Grace. The stench of Death already has you.”

The Queen widened her eyes, like she had suddenly recognized _what_ she was.

“What brought you here?” she asked, scared, hopeful, Amelia didn't know.

“Your daughter. She can be saved still. She's the same as me.”

The Queen nodded, her lips trembling with the ineluctability of their destiny. “Save her, please.” It was but a broken sob, the last strength the dying woman had pouring into a plea, in the surprisingly strong grip of her hand. “Save my sweet Daenerys.”

“I promise,” Amelia nodded. The promise of a witch was sacred, everyone knew, and the poor Queen smiled, relieved. “Let me hold her at least once,” she said, louder, at the handmaidens that were struck frozen in the corner of the room.

The trembling girl that had the Princess in her arms hurried and placed the baby on her mother's chest. Her wailing immediately calmed, big eyes peering up at those of her mother, her irises the same stunning shade of purple. “How beautiful you are, my sweet...” the Queen crooned, caressing those soft silver curls on the baby's head, tears pooling in her eyes when her daughter smiled back at her, grasping a finger with her tiny hand.

The Queen closed her eyes, sighing contentedly, and exhaled her last breath. 

* * *

Daenerys Stormborn was a lively child with soft silver hair and big amethyst eyes. It had been ages since old Amelia had been around children. She felt clumsy and inadequate at first, but soon took pleasure in caring for the baby girl. Dany, as she called her, was growing fast and showing surprising powers that needed to be groomed with care.

Old Amelia was sure that those powers were the reason the Old Gods had sent her on the Princess' path so that she could help her make the most of them.

When the girl was barely one and a half years old, Dany demonstrated to be a precocious little witch the day that tiny sparks started blooming from her hands. Amelia had been distracted for barely a moment, but suddenly noticed the smell of smoke wafting from behind her. She abruptly turned only to see the girl giggling and clapping her hands after having set on fire a pile of old parchment.

“No no no!” she shouted, alarmed, rushing to save her poor old shack from arson. Dany fell silent, big fat tears pooling in her eyes, her bottom lip quivering before erupting in a desperate cry. “Oh, no, my sweet child, no... Amelia is not angry at you,” the old witch crooned, cradling the little girl in her arms. “You're just too young to control your powers. How about a spell?”

The witch kissed her tiny hands in turns, tracing shapes on her palms and murmuring a spell. It was a simple trick, something that would be completely ineffective had Dany been older and more powerful, but she hoped it would be enough to save their little home until she was old enough to learn to control her powers.

* * *

“Mama, look!” Dany exclaimed, brandishing the periwinkles that grew in the woods around their shack in her chubby little hands. She always wanted to help, so old Amelia often made her search for this flower or that herb for her potions and her cooking.

“I'm not your mama, sweet child. You were born daughter of a Queen. I'm just Amelia.”

The girl started calling her Mama Ame, maybe to discern her adoptive mother from her one by blood. It tugged at the old witch's heart, the easy affection pouring from little Dany, the heartfelt companionship that reminded her of when she still had a family of her own.

“Here, sweet child, come,” Mama Ame beckoned her one day, hoisting her up onto her left hip – not without some difficulty – so that the Princess could see what she was doing inside the cauldron. “See what happens when I put the blue flowers in there?”

Amelia sprinkled the last of flower petals with her opposite hand into the dark blue bubbling contents of the cauldron. She grabbed her ladle, stirring it counterclockwise three full times.

“Bubbles!” the girl happily clapped.

“Aye, bubbles. And when the potion changes its colour becoming light blue, we know we added enough flowers, my dear.”

It was an easy potion, a tonic to cure a contagious fever that often gave problems to the smallfolk of the closest villages. Mama Ame did trade with those villages, her potions and some simple spells in exchange for what she needed to live.

She hadn't dared let anyone see Dany, though. There were rumours that Robert Baratheon was still searching for the Targaryen prince that had escaped overseas to kill him, even if he was just an innocent child. Amelia had concealed the signs of a recent pregnancy from Queen Rhaella's body and had made the two handmaidens swear their secrecy with her magic, but she never felt safe enough.

The child had the looks of a perfect Targaryen, growing more into the spitting image of her unfortunate mother day after day.

And so, even if her heart suffered at keeping the girl isolated as such, she avoided every contact between Dany and other people, lest the King would ever come to know there was a silver-haired, purple-eyed little girl hiding in the woods north of the Neck.

Old Amelia had come to love fiercely the little girl, truly like she was her own daughter. She would do anything to protect her from harm, but she was getting old and frail, her magic weakening altogether with her tired aged body. She had to be careful if she wanted to protect the young Princess, the only family she had left in this world. 

* * *

Despite her state of forced isolation, Dany grew into a happy and cheerful young girl. She loved to sing and her days spent in the safety of their woods, learning all about the plants and animals and the arts of magic Amelia taught her.

The young girl was gifted, much more versed in the magical arts than even Amelia had been when she was her age, all those years ago. The old witch knew that some Valyrians had strong magic in their blood, and Daenerys Stormborn seemed to have inherited it all. She grew quickly into a witty, kind and beautiful child, making Amelia feel immensely proud.

Old Ame would tell her bits and pieces of her personal story – not too much, because that would be dangerous, but she had a feeling that leaving the girl ignorant about her true identity would be even worse. After all, there was no way of hiding her heritage to whoever happened to catch a glimpse of the girl, and she better know and be prepared of what to expect from the world.

Also, Amelia had made a promise to the dying Queen, and everyone knew the promise of a witch was sacred.

“There is something I need you to have, sweet child,” she started one day to her seven-years-old adoptive daughter. Her serious tone immediately caught Dany's attention, and Amelia produced a tiny wooden box from a shelf in their shack, rummaging through the contents until she found what she was looking for.

Dany gasped at the sight of the beautiful silver ring that the old witch held up for her to see, two shiny pearls glittering at the top. “This, my sweet Daenerys, belonged to your mother.”

The girl gasped, her eyes going glassy with tears. “Was it Mama Rhaella's?” she asked, incredulous. When Amelia nodded her confirmation, she reached a reverent hand to hold it, her fingers delicately grazing the carvings on the silver band.

“I guarded it for you until you were old enough not to lose it, but it's yours, it's always been yours. Your mother loved you fiercely before she died, and I'm sure she would have wanted for you to have it.”

Little Dany nodded, the tears now flowing freely over her reddened cheeks and her trembling lips. She tried on the ring, looking dejected when it didn't fit her small fingers. “What can I do?” she sobbed.

“Here, here.” Mama Ame produced a crimson ribbon and slipped the ring through it, securing it around Dany's neck. “Here it is. You can wear it on your finger when you grow a bit, you tiny lass,” she laughed, hoping Daenerys would feel better for it.

The little girl hung herself around Amelia's neck, tackling the old woman in a fiery hug, sobbing into her chest for a long while, murmuring her gratitude.

* * *

“Mama Ame?” Dany asked one morning, while the old witch was braiding her silky silver hair, that was now so long it came to the small of her back.

“Yes, sweet child?”

“I had a bad dream tonight.” _Ah, so that's it_. The girl had been silent and demure during their breakfast, and Amelia was relieved to hear it had been just because of a bad dream.

“What was it?” she encouraged, hoping that talking about it would help Dany feel better. The girl seemed to hesitate, biting her lower lip and dangling her legs over the edge of the chair.

“There was a great storm, with thunder and lightning and the wind howling so strong it seemed it would pull the trees from the ground, roots and all,” she began, her finger drawing circles on the wooden chair. _Did she dream of the day she was born?_ Amelia's interest was piqued, maybe the child had just been impressed by the stories Amelia told her about the day they met.

“What else?” she asked, closing the long fishtail braid with a small leather band.

“There was a great screech, Mama Ame, so loud it was deafening. And then I saw this huge dragon.”

“A dragon?”

“Aye. It was so big, Mama Ame, you should have seen it!” Dany exclaimed, turning towards her, braid trailing after her with a _swish_.

“I bet it was, sweet child. Did it frighten you?”

“Aye, but it didn't hurt me,” she nodded, biting her lip. “Well, it didn't _want_ to hurt me, at least, I could feel that, but my skin was burning and aching terribly. It felt like I was on fire.”

“Oh, my sweet child,” Amelia crooned, hugging her. The girl melted into her embrace with a great exhale. “It was just a bad dream, my dear. I probably shouldn't read you so many dragon stories,” she chuckled.

“But Mama, you know I love them!”

“Aye, as you should,” she smiled, loosening their embrace to brush some shorter silver tendrils away from her face. “You're a dragon, after all. You should never forget who you are, Daenerys Stormborn.”

“Mama Ame?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Will you tell me that story again tonight? Of the day you met my other mama?”

The girl asked that with a wistful, wobbly smile, nearly breaking her old heart. “Of course, my dear,” she promised, placing a soft kiss on her temple, and Dany knew the promise of a witch was sacred. 

* * *

Old Amelia knew that she was dying. She could feel it in her ancient, tired bones, her strength fading a little more with every day that passed. She was ready to embrace it, to leave her mortal coil and welcome the peace of death. She was grateful to the Gods that had bestowed upon her such a long, fulfilling life.

But Dany... sweet Dany. She was only four-and-ten, a barely flowered girl just beginning to turn into an astounding young woman, and Amelia was saddened at the thought of leaving her by herself. The old witch didn't have the time to teach her all she knew, and felt like her daughter still needed her protection, but she couldn't do anything but accept the end of her time. She hoped Dany would accept it too.

Amelia had been so weak she had been bedridden for days, now. The girl fretted over her, doing her best to be of help and to _cure_ her, as she said. It broke the old witch's heart, but she had to understand.

“Sweet child,” she called one day from her bed. “Come here, Dany girl.”

Her daughter sat on the edge of the bed, taking her frail, wrinkled hand in her smooth warm one. “What is it, Mama Ame?”

“I will have to leave you soon, my daughter,” she forced out. Tears were stinging her eyes, Dany's lips trembling with barely contained sobs, while she shook her head as to deny it was happening. “No, sweet child, don't cry,” Amelia cooed, grasping her hand a little stronger. “It is time for me to go. I'm old, sweet Dany, and everything aches. Not even magic can fix this old rattletrap anymore,” she smiled, trying to alleviate the gloom that had settled over them.

“There must be something I can do, mama!”

The witch shook her head, a sad, wistful smile on her face. “You have to accept it, Dany. Accept it and be the strong little witch I know you are.”

“You can't leave me now...” Dany sobbed, circling her arms around Amelia's neck, pouring her pain and her fears in her strong grip.

“Daenerys, dearest... my time has come. I'm sorry we couldn't have more of it together, but you must be strong, and careful. Know that I love you immensely, my sweet daughter. I will always be with you,” she whispered, cheeks streaked with tears, tapping lightly on Dany's chest, where her heart lay.

“Take care of me in these last days, my love, and burn my body in a pyre of sacred wood once it's time. Do you promise me?” Amelia asked, caressing Dany's cheek.

“I will, mama, I promise. I love you so much,” she sobbed, exploding in an uncontrollable cry. Amelia held her for a long time, reassured by her promise, sacred as those of all witches. It would be one of the last times they could find solace in their embrace. Amelia treasured it dearly, committing it to her memory so that it could accompany her to the afterlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying a thrilling new thing, which is writing in advance, lol. That means you should expect updates every 1st and 15th of the month, until completion.


	2. The Black Dread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this a day early because I'm too excited about this chapter. I'm a child and I have no self-control, ahahahahahaha!
> 
> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza.
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

 

ACT I | THE BLACK DREAD

 

Jon took another sip of the awful ale they served at the inn he chose for the night, even though he had totally forgotten what the place was called. It had been close to two moons since he left Castle Black for good, the horrible scars on his chest still itching terribly under his clothes.

He had ridden South at a steady pace, only stopping at inns for the night, needing the time to be alone and think. His heart was a dark cloud, full of bitterness and resentment. Jon was struggling to make sense of what had happened to him, of what the mutiny and his death and resurrection meant.

His entire family was lost to him, a stab to his heart even more painful than the one that took his life. He didn't even have a home to return to, and all he knew was how to swing a sword. _Perhaps someone is in need of a guard, or I could even become a knight..._ He laughed the silly thought off, bitterly shaking his head, the raucous hall of the inn nurturing the beginning of a headache.

“It was monstrous, I say!” someone shouted from the other end of the hall where a small crowd had gathered to listen. “Black as the new moon's night sky, so big it covered the entire village! And those _teeth!_ ” His curiosity piqued, Jon stood and slowly walked closer to the trembling man that was telling his tale.

“That's horseshit, Dorran! There ain't no bloody _dragon_ around, everyone knows they're gone for good!”

“I'm no liar!” Dorran shot back with a ferocious scowl. “I shit you not, my eyes still work, Thomos! Unlike _yours_ ,” he spat.

The second man laughed it off, draining the cup of ale in his hands and slamming it loudly on the table. “I don't give a fig about what your eyes saw when you were _piss-drunk_!”

Jon had to laugh, too. _Dragons?_ They had been extinct for at least a century, and the last of them were small, sickly creatures. Shrugging off the ramblings of a man that seemed to be labelled by the others as a known drunkard, he took his belongings and headed towards his rented room for the night, shrugging off all thoughts of dragons and knights as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

* * *

Jon realised he was running low on coin, not that he had much when he left Castle Black. He had to find some employment, and soon. If he had a talent, that was his physical strength and prowess with the sword, so he started asking in the villages he crossed if anyone was in need of a worker or a personal guard in exchange for some coin. He would need that if he meant to travel farther South, or if he wanted to trade his blasted black clothes for some that would attract less attention.

He was mulling over how to overcome his necessities when a tremulous voice startled him.

“Good Ser,” an old woman smiled down at him, hunching over his table.

“I'm no Ser, my lady.”

The old woman laughed, sitting down on the stool in front of his with a laboured pant. "You're no Ser, I'm no lady. I heard you're looking for coin."

“Aye, I am,” he nodded, furrowing his brows. “How can I help you?”

"I'm travelling to Chert, on the Flint Cliffs. I have coin and a weak old body, you need coin and look like a strong lad," she smiled. "I have a few crates with me, and I need someone to lift and guard them and meself."

“Sure, I can do it. How may I call you, if not my lady?”

“I'm Brynna. And you, lad?”

“Jon,” he smiled. “Is it alright if we depart on the morrow?” The old woman slowly stood to pat his shoulder in a friendly manner.

“Very good, lad, you got the job. It should take three days, with the carriage and all. We'll see each other on the morrow.”

That night, Jon dreamt he was Ghost. He was roaming the Wolfswood near Winterfell, his human heart feeling distraught and hopeless at the thought of what had been lost. The wolf merely sniffed the ground, wandering in search of prey, looming South. The wind blew North, carrying the warm smells of lands Ghost had never roamed in his life, but that his siblings had known. A warm wind that caressed his snowy fur, bringing the scent of flowers and trees too delicate to grow in the North, and a foreign smell that reminded him of the smoke of the campfires. 

* * *

Brynna was waiting for Jon the next day. She had five small crates that had to be hoisted on her carriage, the old woman patting them with a satisfied smile as soon as they were safely placed on the battered two-wheeler. Jon secured his own horse to the carriage and helped Brynna into her seat aboard it.

"Wool for the winter!" she exclaimed, looking happy as a child. "I have a relative in Barrowtown, he's got a lot of sheep. I won't be cold when winter comes."

“Do you live alone in Chert?”

“Aye. I had sons, but they died in the war.”

Jon didn't dare ask which war she was referring to, nodding demurely.

“Don't make that long face, lad. It's just the way of the world,” she chirped, her good humour seemingly endless. “Wouldn't be so bad, near the sea and all, nice soft wool to cover these old bones. I just hope the Black Dread will let me die of old age.”

“The Black Dread?”

“Aye! Haven't ya heard of it? It pesters the woods o' the Neck, screeching and spitting fire. Almost shat meself the first time I saw it. It's Balerion reborn, I tell ya.”

“I heard a man talking about a dragon at an inn in the Barrowlands, but dragons have been extinct for more than a century now,” he pointed out.

“I know what I saw and heard. Might be old as cheese, but these eyes and ears're still the finest in all the Bay.”

Jon didn't know what to think. Direwolves were believed to be extinct, too, before he found Ghost and his siblings, but it was probable that they simply hid in the farthest North beyond the Wall. But a dragon? Where would they have been for more than a century? _They could have hidden in the ruins of Old Valyria_ , he mused, staring pensively at the horizon.

“Do you know how to swing that sword o' yours, lad?” Brynna's sudden query broke him from his thoughts of dragons and ancient ruins.

“I do, but I doubt that would be enough against a dragon,” he smiled, shaking his head.

“Oh, that I'm sure. But we're about to cross the forest and I don' like brigands.”

Jon chuckled. “I'll take care of that,” he promised, settling to protect the old woman and her precious cargo of wool. 

* * *

“There it is.” Jon unloaded the last cask from Brynna's carriage, following her directions inside her small house of timber and stone.

"Good job, lad." She gave him a crooked, toothless smile and a pat on his back that was almost affectionate. "Here, here. I promised ya coin," she said, rummaging in a small purse that was latched at her hip. Jon accepted his meagre payment gratefully.

It was almost dusk, the sun lowering slowly on the horizon. “It's time for me to go, Brynna. I might be able to make some headway before the sun goes down.”

“Are ya crazy, lad? No, no no no, it's too dangerous! You will stay here tonight, you should never go out at dusk around here. Or at dawn, for that matter!”

“And why is that?”

“The dragon! Nobody knows why, but dawn and dusk are when it's at its worst.” She lowered her voice, leaning towards him with a serious frown. “It roams the skies aimlessly, screeching and throwing flames. It almost blazed the forest not a moon past!”

"At dawn and dusk? What does it do for the rest of the time?" He couldn't help but start taking the tale more seriously, after hearing others along the road talking about the mighty beast.

“We see it sometimes during the day, but it's more silent. And I fear we can't see it at night, 'cause it's black as the midnight sky.” She turned on her heels, moving to a wooden trunk and fishing some moth-eaten blankets from it. Brynna threw them on the ground, close to the hearth. “There. You can sleep here tonight, lad, and travel tomorrow when it's safe. You earned it.”

Jon still didn't fully believe Brynna about the dragon, but it was getting late and he was tired, so he gratefully accepted his night accommodation.

“And now let me make some dinner, lad. I hope ya like rabbit.”

“Rabbit sounds perf-”

His voice was drowned by a deafening roar, the cups on the shelves trembling with it. Jon's heart soared in his chest, sudden fear at the realization that the legends he heard about in the last two days might indeed be true.

Slowly, carefully, he went out of the door, eyes wide and mouth agape at the mythic sight before him. The dragon was real and much bigger than what his imagination could ever conjure. Black scales glittering with a crimson hue in the glow of the dying sun, horrible horns on a great head of sharp black teeth and eyes of molten lava. Its wings were so expansive they were shadowing the village, the glow of fire visible through its open mouth.

The villagers that were on the streets scampered inside the buildings, barring the doors and windows with haste. He could hear a child cry in the distance, and Brynna's voice murmuring prayers to the Seven from behind his shoulders.

Jon fell to his knees, his jaw slack and his heart thundering in his throat. The dragon roared, a great breath of flame pouring from its mouth. He could feel the heat on his cheeks even from this distance, hinting at the terrible power of the dragon's breath.

“May the Mother protect us!” Brynna gasped. “It's come close tonight.”

“ _Gods..._ ” he exhaled, entranced.

Its movements were weird, scattered and aimless, its great body drawing figures in the air. It screeched and cried, engulfing itself in its own flames.

Jon squinted, baffled at the weirdness of its behaviour. The beast swooped lower, spiralling on itself until it turned to glide low over the village. The screams of terror echoed from the people who hesitantly peeked between the slats of their shuttered windows. A sudden shift in its erratic circling pattern caused Jon to dive inside Brynna's door, his whole body rattling with fear. The dragon did not attack, however, its great leathery wings whipped the air into a wind, causing the buildings to rattle. A cascade of shivers ran down his spine at the otherworldly screeching sound the dragon made before it plummeted down amidst the tall trees, disappearing into the forest.

“What in the...” Jon trailed off, speechless.

“We should be good until dawn. We never see it at night,” Brynna's shaking voice came from behind his shoulders, startling him. “Close the door, lad. I'd say you get used to it after a while, but that ain't true.”

Jon nodded, flabbergasted, turning to cast a last glance to the woods before shutting the door to the shack, barring it while letting out an unsteady exhale. 

* * *

The following day, Jon lingered, still unable to shake from his mind the memory of the unbelievable experience he lived, and the feelings of fear and awe that the sight of the dragon had evoked in him.

Brynna seemed to sense his turmoil, for she fussed around him like she was Old Nan, inviting him to stay until she could “replenish those cheeks” with her soups and stews. The old woman was arguably a great cook, and Jon found himself growing fond of the care and affections she showed him in an almost motherly way. He decided to stay a few more days in the village, trading his physical strength in exchange for coin with the villagers in need of a working hand.

He stayed there for close to a sennight, enjoying his simple tasks and the pleasure of having to deal with smallfolk that didn't know him and only judged him for his ability to work hard instead of his parentage, or lack thereof.

The dragon kept appearing at dawn and dusk, as Brynna had told him it would do, and sometimes during the day, too, but its behaviour looked wildly different in the central part of the day. It was quieter and its movements looked more composed, brief sights when it flew over the coast or the forest, still an imposing and frightening experience, but not nearly as terror-inducing as it was during the evening.

At dusk, the dragon looked crazed, contorting in the air and throwing its flames around like it was being devoured by madness, spiralling closer and closer to the village, until it inevitably plummeted down into the woods right as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon.

Jon observed it all, furrowing his brows as he tried to recall his childhood lessons about dragons and if there was any explanation to such a queer behaviour, but his memory couldn't find anything to explain the beast's shenanigans, and he always ended up focusing back on his work.

When his tasks didn't occupy all of the day, Jon decided to give sparring lessons to the older kids of the village to kill the time. The villagers started eyeing him differently after that day. Jon worried he overstepped until a small group of them came to him with a bag of coin so big Jon was surprised anyone in the village could have that much.

“You seem to know how to swing that beautiful sword o' yours, lad,” the one named Alvar began. “Like a great fighter would.”

“Aye,” Jon confirmed, squinting his eyes in suspicion.

“Nobody here knows how to do it like you,” Alvar said with a grave, serious tone. “And we all know ya need coin. Tis about all we have, but that dragon must be gone.”

Jon's eyes almost fell out of their sockets in surprise. “What? Are you insane? I might know my way with a sword, but that's a bloody _fire-breathing dragon_ out there!” he almost yelled.

“We know that,” Gregor interceded. “We are not asking ya to die, Jon. Just to try and seek out a way it could be killed. Half the coin now, and half when you come back,” he explained.

“All of your money without even an assurance the dragon is dead? I- I can't, that would leave you all in tatters and solve nothing.”

"But we're desperate! Our cattle and sheep are already condemned to be sacrificed as it is, and we don't know when it will turn on our _children_ ,” Fat Jorran pleaded. “We're begging you, Jon. There has to be something that can be done, and we don't see warriors like you all the time in this corner of the world. _Please_.”

Jon sighed, deeply conflicted about this request. He could see their point, and the necessity to get rid of the threat that loomed on this peaceful village. He needed the coin, and such a generous amount would be enough for him to be able to settle somewhere and start living the simple life he wanted for himself.

On the other hand, he already died once, and a part of him still regretted being brought back. When he died again, he didn't expect for it to be of old age. If he could protect these good people, Brynna and the children of the village, then it would be for something worthwhile.

Swallowing the lump that formed in his throat, he nodded, accepting his mission. 

* * *

For three more days Jon observed the dragon with attention, memorizing every movement in detail, everything that could be reconducted to a habit or that could give him an advantage against the great beast. Its behaviour always followed the same queer pattern, but Jon noticed something else. The dragon seemed to disappear always in the same exact spot in the woods, he guessed that this could be the location of its nest. He observed the sky attentively at night, confirming what the villagers had told him, that the dragon never left those woods after dark, and that no sounds came from there that could signal its activity, either. He had to imagine the dragon had a habit to hide during the night, and that it would be the best moment to attack it.

He just had to figure out precisely where its nest could be located.

Searching for it during the day was far too dangerous, because the dragon swooped frequently over the woods, and Gregor had told him it acted aggressively towards those who dared come too close to its nest. “There's a clearing in the woods, a big one. An old witch used to live there, she traded her potions with us, saved my grandson from the pox when he was a little lad. But she died a few years ago.”

“Nobody went to the clearing before the dragon appeared?”

“No, t'was impossible. Old Amelia had the whole place under her spell, nobody could come close to the clearing unless she wanted it. And now, the beast won't let anyone in that part of the forest.”

“And how am I supposed to sneak in there if it's still under a spell?”

"We don't know about it. Some of the spells she made for us were temporary, she often said she feared what could happen if she made them last forever. Amelia was a good person, everyone mourned her in the village."

"Alright," Jon muttered dejectedly. "I will hide in the woods and wait for the dragon to come down at dusk. I should be able to follow its traces up to its nest, and then we might have more information on how to kill it."

Gregor nodded quietly, while Alvar put a hand on his shoulder, meeting his gaze. "Be careful, lad. If anything goes wrong, run back to the village as fast as ya can."

“I'll try,” Jon responded mirthlessly. 

* * *

His horse – or any horse, for that matter – would refuse to delve into the woods, so Jon was forced to go alone, on foot.

He moved silently, hiding his figure under a great cloak the colour of moss, treading through the undergrowth where it was the densest, hoping the dragon wouldn't see him from above.

Jon found a spot where he could hide until dusk and waited.

It felt like hours before the great beast finally roared over his head, thrashing and tossing in the air as he had observed it to do. It was so _close_ , his entire body was quivering in fear, his hands almost unsteady on Longclaw's pommel, stomach churning uncomfortably. Fortunately, the dragon didn't seem to notice him, taken by what looked like a madness that made it contort and screech as if it was in pain.

Jon heard a crash, the trees rattling around him and the earth trembling beneath his feet. He sprinted in the direction of it, following the resounding screeches and growls through the undergrowth. Even though he was sure he was heading in the right direction, the sounds were growing faint, until he couldn't hear the dragon anymore.

It was getting dark, so much he couldn't see clearly where he placed his feet. Finally, he came to a big clearing, the faint light of dusk that filtered in, helping him see better. He searched for the great black beast, squinting his eyes and holding his breath, Longclaw ready in his hand, an anxious sheer of cold sweat covering his brow.

A branch broke on his right, the sound as loud as thunder in the silent calm of the evening. He turned, not expecting to see the flash of impossibly pale hair, to hear the anguished moan of a young woman, as reptilian eyes of molten lava stared straight at him, a look of terror in the face of the creature he sought.

The sword fell from his hand, jaw going slack. In front of him stood a sight so incredible it made him wonder if he was dreaming. The dragon was morphing before his very eyes, black scales retracting into fair, creamy skin, horns disappearing in a mass of silver waves, wings transforming into slender arms. Those frightened eyes became human, red turning into violet, until before him stood the most beautiful woman Jon ever saw in his life, naked as the day she was born.

Dazed, he took slow, cautious steps towards her, a hand unwillingly raising as if to touch her through the great distance that still separated them.

“Don't come closer!” she shouted, taking a fearful step back.

He stopped in his tracks, dumbfounded and confused.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I'm just... I was looking for the dragon,” he lamely explained, remembering a bit too late that she must have seen the great sword that was in his hand only moments ago, and now laid abandoned in the grass.

She sneered, looking hostile and scared, her whole body shivering as a sudden gust of wind washed over them. He realized she must be cold, with not a stitch to cover her petite body.

Without thinking, he took off his own cloak, moving towards her so he could cover her up.

“Here, my lady-”

“I said, don't come any closer!” she shouted, as his eyes were blinded by a great flash of light, his whole body going numb before darkness enveloped him.

 


	3. The Cursed Witch in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend Open_Sky has decided to make me a happy gal and gifted to me fanart for this fic. You'll see it at the end of this chapter. ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza.
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

 

THE CURSED WITCH IN THE WOODS

 

As soon as the dark stranger in her clearing passed out on the ground, Dany let out a great exhale, forcing herself to breathe deeply to calm her frail nerves. It was the first time someone had managed to breach into her home, the sudden vulnerability making her feel dangerously exposed.

She hadn't meant to hurt him, but how could she trust this man? Shaking, she stepped closer to his unconscious figure on the ground, feeling her heart in her throat.

The stranger looked young, more or less of age with herself, his features smooth in his slumber, but his intentions seemed far from innocent, judging from his boiled leather armour and the big Valyrian steel sword that laid a few steps behind him.

He had said he was looking for the dragon, and he had seen her as she transformed into her human skin. He _knew_ , and that meant that Dany was in danger.

She groaned, dropping to her knees beside the stranger's body, tears sliding down her cheeks.

 _How stupid I was_ , she chastised herself. She had to imagine that sooner or later the frightened villagers would send someone to hunt her. She should have planned in advance, improved the defenses in the clearing a long time ago.

She missed Mama Ame terribly. Her mother would have known what to do.

* * *

_I'm sure there was a spell to erase someone's memory somewhere_. Dany bit her lip pensively, shuffling through yet another old tome in Mama Ame's collection, searching for what appeared to be the only solution to the problem that now laid unconscious on her bed that didn't involve murder.

Dany was engrossed in her reading, the fire crackling in the hearth warming her body nicely, when the stranger stirred and groaned.

She turned, setting down the dusty old book she was struggling over, warily observing him as he blinked his way into consciousness.

“What-”

“Don't move,” she warned. He turned to look at her, dark grey eyes assessing her with a mixture of awe and incredulity in them.

“Who are you? And what are you doing in my clearing?”

“I...” he winced, rubbing his eyes tiredly, still looking a bit stunned. “My name is Jon Snow. I was... I was looking for the dragon, actually, but- I wasn't expecting...” he trailed off, casting her an uncomfortable glance and what was probably meant as a friendly smile. “I wasn't really expecting _this_.”

He shifted on the bed as if he meant to get up. “Don't move,” she warned him again, sternly. He slowly relented, settling back on the bed with an aching groan.

There was a prolonged moment of uncomfortable silence before he dared speak again. “May I ask for your name, my lady?”

“I'm Dany, and I live here. What you saw...” she trailed off, gulping. She gestured to her now fully clothed human body. “This is my true form. I know the villagers hate me, but I can't help it. I never harmed any of them.”

A furrow pulled his brows together as he propped himself up on his elbows to better look at her. She decided she could allow him that bit of freedom of movement without endangering herself. This strange warrior looked anything but hostile, but she still couldn't trust him to freely wander in her home.

He seemed to think for a long moment, squinting his eyes and worrying his lip. “Were you... cursed?” he finally asked.

Dany couldn't bring herself to answer, so she nodded instead, looking at the dancing flames in the hearth.

He inhaled deeply at her admission, shifting to sit at the edge of the bed.

“How long?”

“I forgot. It's been some moons, maybe...” she murmured as if she was talking to herself. “I think it's almost been a year.”

“A _whole year_?!” He sounded almost outraged.

“I told you, I never hurt anyone! I just took some of the sheep, but do you have the slightest idea how bad an empty stomach hurts when you're a dragon?” she jumped up, feeling the need to defend herself from his judgement.

“I believe you,” he said, quieter. “This must be horrible for you. Are you... are you yourself when you're a dragon?”

Dany sighed, sitting down on her chair again. “More or less. Not fully, but enough not to do anything I would regret,” she demurely explained, forcing herself to calm down. He was trying to understand, at least. That was a great first step.

Maybe she wouldn't need to erase his memory, after all.

“Does it hurt? Transforming into a dragon?” he asked after a while.

“Terribly,” she whispered.

Jon Snow cursed as he raked his hand through his hair, making the raven curls an even wilder mess. “That's why you behaved so strangely every dawn and dusk... that's when you morph from one form to another. You were in pain.”

She blinked, silently stunned at the extent of his studying her habits.

“You sure observed me a lot, Jon Snow,” she finally murmured, not really knowing what else to say.

“I was trying to understand how to avoid becoming dragon supper,” he shrugged. “Turns out, you do not look all that scary at night.”

She should have felt affronted. She was a witch, after all, a very powerful one, and the last of the mighty Targaryen dynasty on earth.

But Jon Snow couldn't know all of this. He was smiling at her, his eyes crinkling slightly, probably feeling relieved that his suicidal dragon-hunting quest turned into a peaceful conversation with a young woman in the woods. Just by looking at him, she could feel her anxiety waver, until a bubble of laughter rose in her own throat at the absurdity of it all.

Before long, they were both laughing, their eyes watering. The tense mood in her small shack dissolved into thin air.

“Is she dead?” he asked once their mirth subsided, a seriousness in his tone that almost surprised her.

“Who?”

“The witch who did this to you.”

Dany gulped, not liking the sudden turn of his queries.

“I heard a witch lived here in these woods, once. It was her, right? If so, I'm glad she died.”

“My mother had nothing to do with this,” she defensively spat back.

“Your _mother_?”

“Do not dare stain her name ever again. She was nothing but good to me.”

"My apologies, I assumed-" he sighed. "Who was it, then? This mustn't go unavenged, my lady. I can help you seek justice.”

“You can't do that,” she scoffed.

“What they did to you is terrible. They deserve to pay,” he almost pleaded, his right hand clenching like it would around the handle of his sword. “Just tell me the name of the horrible witch who did this to you, and I swear-”

“Me, it was me. I did this to myself,” she blurted out.

Jon Snow blinked, his mouth going slack. “What?”

"I cursed myself, alright? That was very clearly not my original intention, but I tried a spell too complicated and it turned out like- hey, there's nothing funny in this!" she shouted, affronted when she noticed that Jon Snow was failing to contain an incredulous laugh.

“I'm sorry- I'm sorry, it's not... _oh gods_.”

“Do not make me hex you again, Jon Snow,” she threatened, rising from her chair with a menacing scowl.

"Ohh, so that's why my head hurts..." Jon commented, lightly massaging at the base of his skull. "Apologies, my lady," he murmured, finally managing to control his mirth. "It's all just... most unexpected."

“I think you're in a good enough shape to _leave_ , my lord," she said coolly. "Besides, it's almost dawn."

He sobered entirely, his face assuming a broody expression, brows furrowing in displeasure. He opened his mouth three times as if to say something, before deciding for “As you wish, my lady. Where is my sword?”

“I will toss it to you when you are far enough from my home. Don't ever come back, Jon Snow. Tell the villagers what you will, but I don't want to see any of them in my clearing, understood?”

Jon Snow nodded demurely, following her instructions and disappearing whence he came.

* * *

“Jon!” Brynna exclaimed when he emerged from the darkness of the night, rushing towards him as fast as her old bones let her. She had waited for him, the dark circles under her eyes betraying her lack of sleep. “Lad, are you alright?” she asked while fretting over him, her shaky hands fluttering all over his face, his chest, as if to assess his injuries – or lack thereof.

“Aye, I think I am,” he murmured, shaking his head.

“Come inside, have some mead. Oh, I've been so worried for ya!”

Jon smiled, a slight upturn of his lips at the old woman's show of affection.

“What happened?” she asked once he sat at the table, a comforting cup of mead in his hands.

“I didn't-” he sighed. Jon bit his lip, thinking about the dreamlike encounter of that night. He couldn't shake from his mind the memory of Dany's fearful eyes, her diffidence and distrust. She was young, that much was clear, and the most stunning woman he had ever seen, with her moonlike tresses and amethyst eyes. And yet, there was such pain in those eyes, such loneliness-

“I didn't find it,” he finally lied.

“It's alright, lad,” Brynna crooned, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You tried. The important thing is that you made it back alive and whole.”

He nodded, and bid her goodnight just as Dany's mighty roar boomed in the sky, the pink light of dawn filtering through the window. 

* * *

The villagers had been relieved to see him whole and had comforted him for his supposed failure at his mission.

“I told y'all it was foolish. That spell is still working, mark my words. That bloody dragon is untouchable,” a usually quiet man named Bennar scowled.

“We tried, Ben. At least he made it back in one piece,” Alvar quipped back. “It's better like this. Aye, better you didn't find it, Jon. We were all worried sick,” he exhaled with a pained expression on his face, avoiding Jon's gaze. “Just... forget about it, alright?”

He tried.

Every day, he set to work in the village, sinking back into the peaceful routine this corner of the world offered him. Travelling here was never in his plans, but to his surprise, he found he was growing fond of these people, of this small, quiet village squeezed between the Flint Cliffs and the woods of the Neck. Here, he wasn't the Bastard of Winterfell, he was just Jon, a man who gained his place among the others because he was hardworking and respectful.

Brynna had seemed to develop a genuine affection for him, pouring on him the love she couldn't give to her sons anymore, he mused. It made his heart almost hurt, receiving now the kind of motherly love he had missed all his life. His scars itched less and less every day, the skin slowly healing, although the sight of them was still something he tried to avoid at all costs, never once glancing down at his chest when he dressed or bathed.

Jon could get used to this life, but the nights... He would often dream of _it_ , the harsh cold seeping into his bones and bleeding the life out of him from the cuts on his body. Those mocking, disdainful eyes filled with hatred, looking down at him as they plunged their blades in his chest again and again and _again_ , the flesh of his heart tearing apart violently, the spasms terribly aching until the only thing that was left to him was the nothingness of death.

He sometimes woke screaming, startling the poor old woman that had offered him shelter.

Brynna would fret over him, stoking the fire and heating some mulled wine for him to chase the memories away, but he couldn't look her in the eyes whenever it happened.

It was almost a nightly occurrence.

 _I guess this is my own curse_ , he mused, drinking himself into a stupor after the times the night terrors made him scream the louder. The numbness was way preferable to that suffocating pain.

When he wasn't having nightmares, Dany's screams reverberated his melancholy, a pang of sympathy in his chest, right where his heart had been torn.

Jon couldn't banish from his mind that night in the woods to save his life. Dany was a mystery he couldn't stop thinking about, mulling over her words over and over, in search of a solution that never came. Every day, he couldn't help but search the sky for her massive reptilian figure, a turmoil of inexplicable emotions unfurling in his stomach at the reminder of her pain, the loud, otherworldly screeching that he now knew was a cry for help.

She was young and lonely and scared, trapped in a seemingly endless nightmare that she couldn't share with anyone but her mother's ghost.

She reminded him painfully of himself.

Jon had to do something to help her, he decided. He just had to figure out how.

* * *

Dany had been on edge for a long while, that horrible feeling of vulnerability never truly leaving her since her encounter with Jon Snow, making her tense and alert.

During the day, she tried to fly as far away as possible from the villages, but she had to return to her clearing at night, and that meant that she would keep being perceived as a threat from the people who lived there.

At night, she read, again and again, Mama Ame's books and diaries, even though she knew them by heart at that point. Her head ached under the constant struggle of thinking about what she could do to protect herself and to break the horrible spell that kept her prisoner. Her questions were left dramatically unanswered, fear gripping her heart like a vise at the thought that she might be stuck in her awful mistake for the rest of her life.

Now she had a new fear to add to her burdened heart, the possibility that she would have to kill an innocent person to protect herself. _No, it won't come to that_ , she tried to comfort herself, but the anguish never truly left her.

On the tenth night of her renewed turmoil, she found Jon Snow waiting for her in the clearing, a tentative smile on his face.

Was the man crazy? Did he have a death wish? He actually _waved_ at her like they were old friends when she descended from the sky.

Feeling furious at his blatant disrespect of her orders, she dived right at him, stomping on the ground a few feet from Jon, but he kept his stance.

Already, her reptilian body was starting to slowly shrink, but she went closer anyway, ignoring the pain and stopping a few inches from his face with a terrible roar. He winced, finally looking frightened as he should, but he extended his cloak to her – a black one, different from the one he wore the previous time – and turned to face the other way. “I won't look, I promise. I thought you might be cold once all that morphing back is done.”

That left her speechless enough. Jon kept still throughout the entire transformation, never once peeking at her, but she could see his hand fisting around the cloak every time she cried in pain. Finally, she stood behind him, naked and shaking, and accepted the proffered garment silently.

“Can I turn now?” he asked after she stopped moving.

“Aye.”

“Welcome back to the realm of humans,” he smiled.

“What are you doing here? Was I not clear enough the last time?” she snapped, turning to march towards her shack. She could feel him following her at a distance. Sighing, she let him into her small home before closing the door. As annoyed as she felt, she was mostly sure Jon wouldn't harm her.

"You were crystalline, my lady. But, well..." he scratched his beard.

“What? Speak and let us be done with this.”

“I just thought... you're stuck in this... spell that you cast on yourself, right?”

“If you came here to mock me again-”

“No, of course not! Please, I only ask you to listen to me,” he pleaded.

“Very well, Jon Snow,” she sighed, sitting down on her usual chair and gesturing to another. “Speak.”

"Alright." He did as he was told, clearing his throat and leaning his elbows on the wooden table. "From what I gathered, you're stuck in this spell you cast on yourself. I suppose you tried to break it."

“Of course I did.”

“With no avail.”

“Get to the point,” she sneered, arching a brow.

“I have this friend who's studying at the Citadel to become a Maester. He's the smartest person I know, and he has access to all those books, centuries of knowledge. I thought... I thought it might be useful to ask his help, see if he comes up with anything.”

 _What?_ Dany gaped, disbelieving.

“Ah- I sent him a letter and-”

“The Citadel? Are you out of your mind, Jon Snow?”

“What? No, I just-”

“What have you done?” she screeched, rising from her chair to pace around the small room. _I should have erased his memory, after all_ , she grimaced, anguish gripping her stomach. _I keep being a fool._ She abruptly stopped on her tracks, turning to glare at him with a menacing scowl. “Leave, now!” she boomed, a great gust of wind opening the red door of her house at her words.

“What-” he muttered, stunned at her little show of power. _Oh, if only he knew..._

“Now, Jon Snow!”

“Alright, alright!” he exclaimed as he rose, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, there's no need to hex me again. I just wanted-”

“ _Begone!_ ”

A great whirlwind enveloped him then, rising him a few inches from the ground. With a whoosh and whirl, it all but blasted him out of her home and her life, the red door slamming loudly behind him. She could hear his string of curses fade in the distance as she slumped back on her chair, cradling her head in her hands, letting out shaky, deep exhales to try to calm down.

 _The Citadel_. Jon Snow was either ill-intentioned or a complete fool. The Citadel had been an enemy of both Targaryens and witches of her kind for centuries, and their relationship with the Crown only made it worse.

If only her powers were at their full potential, she would truly have hexed him into losing his memory, or worse. But alas, every time she turned into herself again, she felt weakened, aching and vulnerable. Jon Snow had only to thank that she always needed some time to regain her strength.

Dany let out an unsteady sigh, sliding her head atop the table between her elbows, trying to suffocate her sobs. Loneliness gripped at her heart like chains.

If only her mother were still alive... She would chide her with that scowl of hers – oh, she missed her so that she would gladly endure her anger if that meant she could feel her embrace one more time. Mama Ame could never stay mad at her for long anyway. She would eventually relent, and beckon her into her arms, calling her _sweet child_ and crooning her pain away. Dany could remember the lavender smell of Mama Ame's hugs as if it was yesterday.

Oh, but she would know what to do. She had so much to teach her still and had left her alone in this world far too soon.

Without her mother, there was nothing she could do, except hide and survive. 

* * *

_Stubborn witch._

After his unceremonious landing at the edge of the clearing, he rose up, stroking his bum that was stinging after its abrupt impact with the ground, and slowly set to walk back to the village. It was so dark he could barely see where he stepped, and soon even the light that filtered from the windows of Dany's home disappeared.

She would probably be happy not to ever see him again, that much she made clear, but Jon felt like he couldn't go until he tried everything he could to help the cursed witch he found in the woods. He still couldn't wrap his head about what it was that made him feel like he had a responsibility towards both her and the villagers.

He watched her again the next day, entranced by the figures she drew in the sky as she flew over the coast, diving in and out of the sea. The midday sun made her scales glitter with a crimson tone. She looked like she was playing, even as the villagers still watched her with wariness, reluctant to let the beast out of their sight, lest it surprise them with an attack.

Jon knew by now that what they feared would never happen. Looking at her play, he could almost see her longing for normality, for a carefree youth that was being denied to her. She deserved to be helped, to not be left alone. 

* * *

She could see him sometimes when she swooped low on the village, could sniff his smell with her heightened dragon senses. He was usually working with the villagers when she saw him, or sparring with the older kids, showing off that threatening sword of his. He would always look up when he heard her roars or the thunderous flapping of her wings, furrowing his brows in that brooding look that seemed so characteristic of him, but there was what looked like a pained smile on his lips whenever she glanced back at him.

Sometimes he nodded at her, ever so slightly, careful not to let other people notice.

Jon Snow weirded her out incredibly. He should be afraid of her, by now he should be _gone_ from that insignificant corner of the world. And yet he lingered, saluting her like an old friend every time there weren't potential witnesses around. _Crazy stubborn man_.

She didn't see him again in her clearing, but on the fifth day since their... _altercation_ , she found his cloak there, neatly folded and placed on a boulder near her home, a clear signal of his lingering presence in her woods.

 _How does he even do that?_ And yet, she had renewed her protective spells on the area. She was sure it would be enough to keep him at bay once and for all, but it apparently didn't work, for he still found a way to breach into her clearing. It annoyed her, infuriated her and made her feel strangely gleeful all at the same time. _I must be going mad too_ , she mused as she wrapped herself in the heavy garment, his smell on the collar so strong she could feel it even in her human skin.

Shaking her head, she forced her thoughts back to the problem at hand: Jon Snow had put Dany in danger, a danger far greater than what she was prepared to confront, and she had yet to figure out how to protect herself.

Killing him would be of no use. He had already written to that despicable place, the Citadel, and had probably referred pieces of information that would allow her enemies to locate her home. If she killed him now, she could make the situation even worse. Who knew if this friend of his would try to avenge Jon, and what lengths he was willing to go to do it? It was a risk she wasn't ready to take.

She mulled over all of this for days, lazily stretching her great body on the top of the Flint Cliffs, basking in the sun until she came to accept the only reasonable solution to her struggle: she needed to _go_ until there was time to do so.

Oh, if only dragons could cry, they would name a river in her honour. Nothing pained her more of having to leave her lifelong home, the place where the happiest memories of her childhood surrounded her like a cocoon. How she would miss the sight of that battered red door, where she could almost still see Mama Ame's smile as she called her for supper, a brightness in the old woman's face of which the memory never failed to bring her to tears.

But dragons didn't cry, so she huffed instead, a great cloud of smoke erupting from her nostrils and surrounding her until a gust of wind came to wash it away.

Dany decided she would fly away the next day, as soon as the light of the dawn would give her the wings to do so. She could figure a way to bring the bare necessities with her and would need to accept leaving the rest behind.

_Damn you, Jon Snow._

And yet, what she felt for him was no longer the all-consuming rage that had burned her insides right after the confession of his crime.

There was some sort of resignation in her heart, the bitter realization that she had brought this on herself, that the foolish man had indeed only tried to help, although he shouldn't have. He wasn't her enemy by choice, but the circumstances had made him so.

He didn't even realize it, the stubborn crazy man, or else he would hide from her, he would finally leave that insignificant village and never come back. Instead, he lingered, observing her with maddening intensity, leaving his cloak in her clearing as a peace offering every single night.

His good will only infuriated her more.

_Thrice be damned you!_

* * *

When she came back to her home for what she planned to be the last time, Dany found Jon there yet again, standing in front of her door with that brooding expression of his plastered on his face.

She roared in his face, her feelings of sadness and anger pouring into a loud, threatening warning.

The fool didn't flinch. Instead, he slid off the glove of his right hand, never once glancing away from her, and placed his hand on her snout with slow, reverent purpose.

Dany stilled, surprised at the unexpected contact. There was such tenderness in the way he stroked her scales, in the awed look on his face, that it made her chest hurt. A part of her wanted to hurt him, to pour her fiery rage from her mouth and erase him from existence. Another part of her wanted to bask in the contact, to set those violent impulses aside and let her loneliness be chased away by his presence. When was the last time she had been _touched_? She had only known her mother's love, but Mama Ame had been gone for years now.

Jon closed his eyes with a ragged breath when the scales started retracting from under his touch but kept his hand on her face until he was cupping the smooth skin of her cheek. His palm held the signs of an old burn, she could now notice, the scarred tissue lightly stroking her skin. She only then realized she was crying, the tears she was forced to hold back under the sunlight now freely flowing, dampening his fingers.

“Ah-” he gulped, reluctantly tearing his hand away to unclasp his cloak, blindly moving to cover her trembling body with it. Only then did he open his eyes. They were so dark she thought they could swallow her. “We received a letter today,” he explained softly.

Sniffing, she nodded, her gaze cast on the ground, and took the piece of parchment he was offering her, squinting in the fading light to read it in silence.

Dany's eyes went wide. She bit her lower lip suspiciously, silently considering Jon Snow's motives.

“Why are you trying to help me?”

“I promised the villagers that I would help them get rid of the dragon, and I promised you I would help _you_.” He shrugged. “This seems like the only way to keep faith to both of those vows.”

He sighed, slumping his shoulders. “Besides, I have nothing better to do. I guess... I'm just looking for a purpose, in the end.” There was a sadness in his voice that caught her attention, that made her truly look at him for the first time. His scarred face looked earnest and mournful, his deep grey eyes concealing nothing to her, none of his honesty, none of his pain.

It would probably be a story for another time.

 _Aye, there will be another time_ , she decided. She believed him.

 


	4. Will-o'-Wisps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza.
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

 

WILL-O'-WISPS

 

Jon was fidgeting, he realised, the fingers of his right hand clenching and unclenching restlessly, the scarred skin still damp with her tears.

"I'll leave you be now," he weakly muttered, shaking his head to distract himself from the image of Dany. She stood still with her mouth agape, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks tear-stricken. Engulfed in his voluminous cloak, she clutched Sam's letter to her chest. The sight of her, so vulnerable, it hurt him.

He stepped back silently, disappearing into the woods he came from, his mind buzzing like a beehive, unbidden thoughts chasing themselves.

The buzz only intensified later, when he lay down to sleep, the silence of the night surrounding him, broken only by Brynna's snoring, offering him no distraction or respite. _If only they would leave me in peace._ Dazed, he sighed, reflecting his scattered feelings and thoughts like a detached spectator.

_Why is she all alone?_

_Why am I?_

_Are there really gods? Is there really justice?_

_Arya? Where are you, little sister?_

_How did she even manage to curse herself into a dragon?_

_Father? Did you think about me before they hacked your head off?_

_Uncle? Are you still wandering out there in the cold?_

_And Robb... Robb..._

His brother sat beside him that night, the faint moonlight illuminating his auburn hair. _He looks younger than me_ , Jon thought.

“I am, brother. We both died, and my bones are still rotting at the Twins.”

Jon squeezed his eyes close, feeling the sting of tears behind his eyelids, an invisible hand crushing his heart in its grasp.

When he blinked his eyes open again, Robb was smiling at him with the bloody fangs of a wolf. 

* * *

Dany ran her fingers over the small piece of parchment for what felt like the hundredth time. The message was short enough to be carried by a raven, the neat handwriting shining stark black on the yellowish background.

Even in those few words, it was clear that this Sam held nothing but affection and admiration for Jon Snow. There was an undertone of concern too, resonating within the inquiry on the third line, _“Is there something you're not telling me? Are you in trouble?”_ confirming to her that her strange intruder didn't disclose much of her queer situation to his Maester friend.

Alas, the unknown man that penned the words she was mulling over had promised to do extensive research, and that he would send a proper letter when he came up with something new. _“It might take some time,”_ he warned, before signing the bottom of the parchment with a flourish.

Even though she couldn't stop thinking about all the possible risks she was exposing herself to, Dany could not, for the life of her, extinguish the tiny spark of hope that had bloomed in her chest. It was an unwelcome, almost resented presence, but it was there nonetheless, growing bolder and bolder every time she read the message again, every time she remembered Jon's sad, earnest eyes.

She let the days pass, observing him from a distance. At night, she slept curled up in his cloak, inhaling his scent. How long had it been since there was _someone else_ with her? So much time had passed; at the beginning, even talking with another human being had felt foreign.

He had dared touch her cursed skin, his hand on her scales an inexperienced sensation. Her cheek still tingled at the memory of that tender touch, unlike anything she ever felt from her mother's hands.

She had done nothing to stop his retreat, so dumbstruck she could only stand and watch him go, the words she would have wanted to say dying in her throat. Dany sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

Staring at that piece of parchment was proving to be useless. 

* * *

The full moon had risen early that evening, and even though there were dark clouds looming in the distance, the eerie, bright moonlight illuminated the village with a silver glow.

Jon was tired. He had had uninterrupted nightmares for the past five nights, keeping him awake. The insomnia wore down on him during the day, making him feel heavy, detached and blurry like he was observing his surroundings through a thick fog.

That night, he sat on the steps in front of Brynna's house, watching the moon rise higher and higher. The last colour splashes of the sunset receded into the horizon, making way for the stars as he cleaned his sword. There was something about the repetitive gesture of dragging the whetstone up and down the shiny blade that was soothing, a calming predictability that comforted him.

A sudden flash of orange light in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He blinked, stunned, observing the faint will-o'-wisps fluttering at mid-air, forming a dim trail of light that disappeared into the woods. When he just stared dumbly at them, their light intensified, and they started appearing closer and closer to him until one formed right in front of his nose. “I get it, I get it...” he murmured, looking around to make sure nobody was witnessing the strange event.

As much as he tried to be unaffected, his heart was beating loudly in his chest, a sense of anticipation as he silently walked into the woods, the fire illuminating the way. It was the very first time that Dany sought him out first, instead of the contrary.

He gulped, hoping it meant that she was willing to forgive him for the message he wrote to Sam. Although a part of him felt sorry for what she had most certainly taken as a betrayal, Jon was still convinced that asking help was the right thing to do. He just needed her to understand that.

When he finally arrived in her clearing, Dany was waiting for him before her door, clad in a hooded crimson cloak that fluttered around her ankles. She held his own black cloak in her arms, offering it to him as he came closer.

“It's chilly tonight,” she said solemnly. “Come inside.”

A bright fire crackled merrily in the hearth and there were so many lit candles that the whole room was bathed in orange light. "Sit, Jon Snow."

He inhaled deeply, apprehension rising as he took a chair, mulling about the reason for her invitation. Dany looked somber and quiet, her eyes shining in the glow of the fire. She fidgeted, fingers tangling with themselves, until she, too, seemed to take a deep breath to steel herself.

"Besides my mother, I've lived alone all of my life," she said, voice barely more than a whisper. She shook her head as if to banish a thought. "This clearing should be inaccessible to anyone but me. How is it that you found me?"

Jon did not bother to conceal his surprise. “I have no idea.”

"I was about to leave this place for good before you came to me with Sam's message. There are... enemies, Jon Snow. People that would want to bring me harm, if only they knew where to find me."

Jon gulped, his stomach churning at the thought that someone could ever want to harm her. _Aye, she's a witch, but she could have killed me already, or the villagers. And yet she didn't._

“I understand,” he nodded. “I know that what I did seemed reckless to you, and for that I'm sorry. I know I earned your wrath,” Jon said. “But it looks to me like you might really need some help.” He tried to convey all of his sympathy in the tone of his voice, to let her understand he truly meant it.

Dany looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching for the truth in his own.

Finally, she lowered her head, looking at her fidgeting hands. "I know that," she murmured right as thunder started to echo in the distance. "But I don't know you, Jon Snow."

He understood that. How could she trust him, a stranger sent to kill her? “Tell me what I need to do,” he said.

“You know what I am,” she sighed, finally sitting down on her chair. Jon nodded.

“You know what they say about a witch's promise?”

“That it's sacred,” he nodded.

"Right," she sighed, leaning over the table to grasp his hand in her own. Her skin was soft and warm, so much it seemed like she had the fire in her blood. _Her eyes hold the fire, too, although they are the colour of the sky at dusk._ Dany squeezed his hand, looking at him like she was staring at his very soul. “I will promise you one thing, Jon Snow,” she stated, resolute, “Betray my trust and you will die a painful death.”

Jon gulped, solemnly nodding his understanding. “I won't.”

“Good.” Dany released his hand. The sound of rolling thunders reverberated around them, the sudden rain drowning out every other noise from outside the shack. Dany straightened her back, sighing. “What did you tell your friend?”

“That I needed for him to look into anything that had to do with shape-shifting spells, with witchcraft and dragons. I... more or less tried to... explain the situation, and I asked for his silence.”

“How much parchment did it take? Did it turn into a book?”

Jon chuckled, surprised at her unexpected bout of humour, shaking his head. “No, no. I didn't tell him everything... Not by letter, I would never do that. I just needed to give him a few details so he could understand my request.”

Dany seemed to mull over it, biting her lip, before sauntering to the window.

Would she believe him this time? Jon hoped so. If he were to be honest with himself, he dreaded what would happen if she were to deny him yet again. What could he do? He couldn't stay at Chert forever, not with a dragon screeching over his head every single day to remind him of his failures.

He had nowhere to go, no one he could rely upon. Without a purpose, he felt lost.

“It usually passes quickly.”

Jon snapped his head up, distracted. “I beg your pardon?”

“The storm, Jon Snow,” she smiled, casting him an amused glance. She turned to gaze outside again, leaning her petite frame against the windowsill. “It looks magnificent and terrible, but it never lasts long.”

Jon stood, walking closer to her to better observe the sudden storm that was raging outside, the wind howling against the walls of timber and stones. The red door was quietly rattling on its hinges.

He could feel the weight of Dany's gaze following his movements, studying him, still wary, still not completely at ease in his presence.

"You should be able to return to the village in a while," she murmured. "You can stay for supper until the storm subsides."

* * *

If he was surprised at her unexpected invitation, he didn't show it. She had been quite unsure about it, too, but she had figured that she couldn't really avoid his presence much longer, the fragile, wary alliance they just formed asking for some measure of mutual acquaintance.

Jon had been mostly silent and brooding while she cooked, clenching and unclenching his right hand restlessly, biting his lower lip as he gazed at the raindrops sliding down the windowpane, ignoring the heavy air of awkwardness that surrounded them.

"What do the villagers know?" she asked later, as they both ate spoonfuls of onion soup at the small wooden table in her kitchen.

“Mhh...” he mumbled, swallowing. “Not much. I told them I'm still... researching.”

“Researching?” Dany asked arching a brow.

“I know it sounds ridiculous. I didn't know how to... explain... all of this,” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at her.

“The cursed witch you found in the woods. It would make for a nice song, a pity you're not a bard,” she teased.

He laughed, almost choking on his soup.

“Aye, I'm no bloody poet,” Jon grinned when he finally recovered.

“So, my valiant knight...”

“I'm no bloody knig-” he protested, but Dany interrupted him.

“What's the plan?”

“Oh. Well.” Jon scratched his beard, staring at the void as he thought it over. “Unless there's something you haven't tried out so far, we wait for Sam's response. You go on with your life and try to stay as quiet as possible, I'll keep the villagers under control.”

She nodded. “It will be difficult to keep quiet. The pain is excruciating when I morph, and I can't control myself. But I can fly farther during the day, hide somewhere.”

“I'm sorry it has to be so painful,” he murmured.

Dany shrugged. “It can't be helped, I'm afraid.”

The pattering of the rain on her home was slowly relenting, the thunders rolling further East. Dany took a moment to glance out of the window. “See? I told you it would not last long.”

“Aye,” he murmured, standing and clasping his fur cloak around his shoulders. “It's best that I go, now.” Jon took his sword, which leaned against the wall beside the hearth, and carefully fastened the scabbard to his belt, the movements slow and measured. He nodded at her awkwardly before stepping outside the door. “Thank you for the supper, my lady, it was delicious.”

He walked a few steps away from her home before turning to her once again. “Can I... come back sometime? To- to talk more, you know, about the plan...”

Dany rolled her eyes, even as her heart quickened its pace, flooding her chest with a tingling warmth. “Keeping you at a distance is proving to be quite the challenge, Jon Snow,” she teased. “So aye, you can.”

He nodded, smiling bashfully, and walked away.

Dany stood at her door for a long time, staring at the point where he disappeared in the darkness until it started raining again. She hoped he managed to return to the village before he drenched himself to the bone.

Sighing, she withdrew inside her home and waited for the dawn. 

* * *

The downpour came and went for three days at least, during which Jon stayed holed up in the village. Dany roamed the sky as usual during the day, the heavy rain clattering against her stony scales.

The following days were sunny again, and unusually dry for this part of Westeros. During the hours of sunlight, Dany dived and played amidst the waves, flying up and down the great cliffs that looked onto the sea, giddy and careless, moving to sleep on top of the cliffs when she got drowsy and fishing in the bountiful waters underneath when she felt hungry.

Daenerys had decided to let the cattle and sheep be, for a while, moving farther away from the villages, but her dragon's heart did not always follow the resolutions she made at nighttime. Her reptilian form was more commanded by some sort of fiery instinct than by the logic that dominated her human life.

She could see the villages come to life under the benevolent sun, and being curious, she sometimes flew closer, observing the people working the fields or doing renovations around their little houses. The children were playing outside, giggles and laughter filling the air, the men exchanging japes as they took advantage of those dry, warm days to chop wood for when the chill of the night would descend on their homes. The women were tittering close to the brook, washing their cloths and chatting their day away, their hands smelling of lavender soap like Mama Ame's used to.

It made her happy, to see such joy coming from the tiny villagers, their figures so distant she could barely make out their faces. She longed to talk with them, to chase the children and gossip with the women, to giggle with the girls her age as they shied away from the courtship of men.

But alas, every time she inadvertently loomed closer, the carefree chatter turned into terrified screams, the children's laughter into desperate cries, and so she flapped her wings away, letting out a mournful growl. 

* * *

“What'cha looking at, lad?” Alvar inquired, distracting him from his wandering thoughts.

Blinking, Jon turned his attention away from the sky, from the tiny speck of black growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

“Oh...” he stuttered, scratching behind his neck. “Nothing, I just-”

“Are you still thinking about it?” The man's voice grew softer, understanding shining in his eyes. “The dragon,” he clarified with a nod to the sky. “Don't lose your sleep over it, lad. It was reckless to ask it of you, and I'm sorry about that.” His gaze was cast down in shame, but Jon thought that it didn't prevent them from asking him to face a fucking dragon. _Would have they mourned me? Or would they have thought that I wasn't one of them?_

“It's alright, Al,” he sighed. “You just asked what you deemed necessary.”

He focused back on his work, swinging his axe with more force than needed. The wood splintered easily under his blows, easing some of the tension off of him.

Try as he might, he couldn't help his mind from drifting back to Dany. She had flown low over the village earlier, causing quite the ruckus amidst the frightened villagers. When the cries of horror had covered every other sound, she had flown away, releasing such a pitiful growl it made his stomach clench in sadness.

Jon wished he could reach out to her, touch her as to make her feel less lonely. He wished he could tell everyone the truth so that they could understand, so that they could accept her and mayhaps even love her, but if there was a lesson that Jon had paid with his own blood, it was that you can never trust people to fathom what they aren't ready to accept.

They would never understand. They would want her dead.

Was his silence the only way to protect her?

“We're going to the tavern tonight, lad,” Alvar said out of the blue. “If we're lucky, we might see Lucas make a fool of himself in front of Marya once again,” he laughed. “Are ya comin' with us?”

“Not tonight,” Jon smiled, shaking his head. “I have something to do.”

“More ale for us,” the man shrugged, swinging his axe. 

* * *

When Dany went back to her clearing, that night, she found Jon's cloak waiting for her, neatly folded on the large rock where he used to leave it.

Morphing that day had been a painful affair, even more than usual, her bones aching and her junctures screaming, until she was left naked and trembling on the ground, her blurry gaze fixed on the black fur, the fine hairs moving gently under the evening's breeze. She forced herself to stand, relishing in the way the heavy garment warmed her skin almost instantly when she wore it, in the smell of him that filled her nostrils as she dipped her nose in the collar.

It was only when the pain had ebbed away to a faint tenderness that she noticed it. The rhythmic, familiar sound of wood being chopped was coming from the back of her house, while the orange glow of a lit hearth filtered from her windows, warm and welcoming as the darkness of the night grew, the sky already a deep indigo that made the stars shine all the brighter.

Slowly, she walked towards the sound, her feet moving silently on the soft grass. Turning the corner, she saw Jon with an axe in his hands, his back turned to her, the little stack of wood she kept beside her shack almost doubled since the previous night. He chopped one last piece, a few tiny splinters flying around with the force of his blow, and dropped the axe on the ground, lifting the collar of his tunic to dry the sweat from his brow.

She had never seen him without layers and layers of boiled leather and wool, his body looking leaner in only a white linen tunic. She had always seen him wear black clothes, but the light colour made him look younger. _Brighter_.

Awkwardly, she hugged herself further in his cloak, clearing her throat.

Jon turned, a warm, almost sheepish smile on his face. “Oh, hello,” he muttered, wiping his hands on his breeches.

“Hello,” she murmured back. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, this-” Jon turned to gesture at the stack of chopped wood, looking shy. “The villagers said it will rain again soon, and they're all scrambling to chop wood now that it's dry,” he explained. “I noticed you were running low on it, and...”

Dany stared at the wood, the sight inexplicably filling her with warmth.

“I mean- you said I could come back and I thought-” he sighed. She realised she had been still as a statue, contemplating his work with her mouth agape and the annoying sting of tears in her eyes. _I just wanted to chase the children, to laugh by the stream and be a young girl._ Jon was stuttering, embarrassment and concern fighting in his charcoal eyes. "I'm sorry if I overstepped, I thought-"

Dany moved closer to him, stepping on her tiptoes to silence him with a peck on his cheek. “Thank you, Jon,” she whispered, before hurrying away from him, scampering inside her red door, trying to tame her burning face and the threat of tears in her eyes.

It had been an impulse, sudden and violent and irresistible. She basked in the memory of his beard tickling her chin, almost hesitant to step out of his cloak to get dressed, a smile stubbornly plastered on her face.

When she stepped out in the kitchen, a few minutes later, she found him there, awkward and ruffled, stepping from one leg to another as he didn't quite meet her gaze. He looked rather pink, too, a sort of strange eagerness in his voice as he accepted a cup of ale, lingering around.

She had been sad and dejected that day, the loneliness crushing her, and now there was nothing she wanted more than for him to stay, to talk to her, to make her feel normal for a few hours, but she couldn't admit that out loud. The wariness still pounded in her heart, although it was growing smaller and smaller at every one of his rare, bashful smiles.

She didn't need to say it, though. Jon looked wary, too, in the beginning, eyeing her like he expected to be showed out at any moment, but he slowly relaxed and sat in front of the fire with her.

“Tell me about them,” she asked. “The villagers. What happened today? Did they tell you stories?”

"Oh, well..." he sighed, scratching his beard. "Ah, we've been chopping wood all the day, really. We didn't talk much, but," he chuckled, "Gregor wanted to trick this young lad that was working with us, and passed a waterskin around the lot of us, right? We all took sips from it and frowned like it was the strongest liquor we ever drank, Ben even spat it out and got called a prissy for it, but in reality, it was only water. When the waterskin reached this poor lad, Lucas was his name, he drank, too, and we could all see he was baffled as he realized it was just water, but he said nothing.”

“And then? What happened then?” she beamed. She could picture the scene, hear the laughter of the man as they japed and worked together.

“Well, the fool asked for one more sip and did a little grimace, too. Before long, he was starting to act all dizzy like he truly drank some headstrong liquor. We all started laughing, and Gregor slapped his back so hard that poor Lucas almost spat his lungs out. 'What's up, boy? The water made you drunk?'” Jon imitated the deep, booming voice of what she imagined to be a fat, cheerful man. He laughed at the memory, shaking his head fondly, a lone raven curl escaping the tie in his hair to bounce around his forehead.

She laughed, too. “I've never seen you like that,” she pointed. “With your hair up. It suits you.”

“Oh, it keeps getting in my eyes.” Was it just her impression or was he blushing again?

“What else? Anything further happened?” She was eager to know more about the strangers that lived in the village near her forest, those tiny ants she could only see from above. She longed to feel a part of them.

Jon smiled sheepishly, an understanding gleam in his eyes as he told her tales of the sweet old woman that gave him hospitality and of her famed rabbit stew. He included stories of the men that had become friends of some sorts to him and their antics with the girls from the nearby villages and the young boys he gave his sparring lessons to.

Dany drank it all in, picturing herself amongst them, young and carefree and human all the time.

“It's time for me to go, now,” Jon said at some point, although he looked reluctant. “Brynna will be waiting for me.”

"Will you come back again soon?" she asked on a whim, feeling immediately embarrassed by her own eagerness. "I mean... I'd like to hear more about life in the village. Will you tell me more?" She bit her lip, hating the sudden shyness that crept into her voice, the feeling of vulnerability that grew in her heart, but Jon only smiled warmly at her. "I will," he promised. "Good night, Dany."

When he left, the sadness that had gnawed at her that day was gone, too. 

* * *

Jon walked back to the village with a spring in his step, humming a song under his breath. He wasn't sure if it was too soon to go back to the clearing and if Dany would be mad at him like she usually was, but she had been so eager at his company that the memory made him smile.

She was starting to let down her walls, although she still seemed to be wary of him at times. Jon could understand.

Her plump lips had been soft as a rose on his cheek, stealing his breath away at her unexpected gesture of affection. She had run away from him soon after, leaving him dumbfounded, standing outside her home to fight the sudden impulse to chase her and kiss her back, to tickle her with his beard until she burst into giggles, and then kiss that away from her lips, too.

Oh, if only he would stop smiling like a fool.

When he came to Brynna's home, he discovered with a relieved sigh that the old woman was already asleep. He hated to lie to her, but it was for the best to let her believe he spent the night at the tavern with the others, for it would be difficult to explain his absence otherwise.

He fell asleep almost immediately after his head hit the pillow, the tiredness of his long day finally catching up with him.

When his brother came to find him that night, he looked older, like he was at age with him yet again, and he was smiling. There was a beautiful woman with him, although Jon couldn't see her face. He held a giggling boy in his arms, the same auburn curls as his father bouncing over his forehead.

“You would have had a nephew, brother,” Robb smiled.

_I'm sorry I was the one to come back._

“Don't be. You mourned me, and that's all you could do. I'm glad they brought you back.”

_It should have been you._

Robb's ghost laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, Jon, you truly never change.” The ghost stepped closer, sitting on the ground next to Jon, his son blabbing happily in his lap. “Close your eyes, brother.”

_They're already closed. I am dreaming._

Jon heard Robb laugh again, and then felt his cold, cold hand pose over his eyes. “Do you see?”

Memories from his childhood flooded him, the happy memories from the past when his family was alive and whole and the future wasn't so scary. They were children again, all of them, and a young Robb was chasing him in the courtyard of their home. When his brother finally caught him, they rolled on the ground, laughing, covered in sweat and mud. Robb looked at him, suddenly serious, his blue eyes shining with affection. "Do you see, Jon? You were always loved," he spoke.

When the ghost disappeared, Jon woke with tears in his eyes, but his heart felt fuller than it had been in a very long time. 

* * *

Dany didn't really expect it to become a routine, but it did.

Every two or three nights Jon waited for her in the clearing. She would invite him inside her home, where they spent the time sitting in front of the hearth, sipping on a cup of mead or ale and talking about everything and nothing.

Truth was, she found herself growing fond of the company the more time she spent with him. She had been alone for a while now, she couldn't even remember precisely how much time had passed since Mama Ame died. It had been a few years, but how many? Dany couldn't really tell, but it had been so long that she craved human company more than anything, being able to talk to someone, to share the cramped space of her shack and the warmth of her hearth with someone else.

A part of her still wanted to keep her distance, to preserve herself from danger, but she was nought but a lonely young girl in the end, and she soon found herself giggling at his japes, burrowing herself in his cloak when he offered it to her, eagerly listening to the tales of his adventures beyond the Wall.

The way he looked at her, he sometimes seemed concerned, a slight furrow in between his brows as he inquired on how she had managed to live by herself all this time.

“I can't begin to imagine how it is... where I grew up, in Winterfell, there was always someone around. I used to play with my siblings in the snow.”

Jon Snow wasn't really the talkative type, but when he lost himself in the memories from his childhood, he could lose track of the time, rambling about his lost family with a wistful smile on his face. She could almost picture them, wild little Arya and prickly Sansa, his best friend Robb, confident and strong, Bran the climber and cute little Rickon. She could picture Lord Stark's proud smile and Old Nan's tales in front of the fire.

“What about your mother?”

Jon stiffened, tensing his shoulders. “I never knew her. My father never talked about her.”

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, reaching a hand out to grasp softly around his forearm. “I never knew my real mother either.”

Jon whipped his head in her direction, brows raised in surprise. “I thought that the witch-”

“She raised me as her own, but I wasn't born from her womb. My mother by blood died the day I came into the world. All I had of her was a ring, but I... I've lost it.” Confessing it was painful, and Dany had to close her eyes and bit her tongue to banish the memory of that wretched day in which she had lost the only token of her mother, cursing herself to a life of agony.

Jon covered her hand with his own, squeezing it slightly. “I'm sorry.”

“What is done is done,” she sighed, fluttering her eyes open to focus on the comforting dance of the flames. “Mama Ame used to say that I looked just like her, and that she wasn't a witch. I sometimes wonder if she would be happy with what I am.”

As she talked, staring at the fire, she could feel Jon's heavy gaze on herself, his onyx eyes observing her attentively, mouth drawn in a tight line as he brooded over her words. She could picture him perfectly even without glancing at him. _How weird_ , she mused. For a long moment, they stayed silent, the crackling of the hearth the only sound to be heard.

“I always wondered about my mother, you know,” he started softly. “People say I look so much like my lord father, that whoever she was, she must have left little trace of herself in me. Lady Catelyn used to despise me all the more for it,” Jon sighed, slumping further in his chair.

Dany clenched her fist around her cup, frowning. How could someone hate on an innocent child for the circumstances of their birth? The unfairness of it made her blood boil.

“I used to dream of her, sometimes. She was always beautiful and kind and highborn in my dreams.” Jon suddenly frowned, casting her an uncomfortable glance before turning to stare at the fire yet again. “I never told this to anyone, really. I don't know why I'm doing it now,” he murmured, almost as an afterthought, sipping on his cup of ale.

Dany raised a brow, a mischievous smirk on her face as she slowly nodded towards her own cup.

Jon's eyes widened and he immediately tore his mouth from the cup. “What- what did you do to it?” he asked, alarmed.

Dany threw her head back, a loud peal of laughter erupting from her mouth, her stomach spasming in mirth. “Your _face_ , Jon!” she exclaimed, drying her eyes. “You should have seen it! I did nothing, silly, but it's your fourth cup. That works better than any tongue-loosening potion I could brew,” she chuckled.

“But you _do_ know how to make those,” he paled.

“Of course I do. That's a pretty simple potion to make.”

Jon gulped and placed his cup down, never touching it for the remainder of their time, making her laugh again.

He was a bit red on the cheeks, but if it was for the ale or something else, Dany didn't know. 

* * *

Jon staggered back to the village only shortly later, feeling light-headed and dizzy. Brynna was still awake, although she already wore her night clothes.

"Oh, Jon, here you are!" she greeted him. The old woman seemed to smirk at his unsteadiness, unceremoniously stepping closer to him and sniffing his breath. "Jorran came earlier and asked where you were, said he was going to the tavern," she smiled. "I see he found you."

Jon gulped, confusingly processing the implications of what the old woman said. “Aye, I... I think I'll go to sleep now, Brynna. Good night.”

It didn't take long before her snores filtered from the adjacent room where her bed was. Jon, though, was wide awake, mulling over his conversation with Dany and the secrecy of their weird relationship. _The villagers will find out eventually, and they will not like it_ , he thought, tossing and turning in his blankets. _I can't stay here much longer, but I can't leave her either._

But would she ever leave her clearing, the home that held her sweetest memories? It was all she had known of the world when she wasn't wearing the skin of a dragon, and maybe she wouldn't accept to be departed from it.

And where to hide an enormous dragon? At least in this part of the world, they were distant from the worries of the Lords and noble houses, hid away from the enemies she was so scared of. _Who are they? Why would they want to harm her?_

He couldn't, wouldn't leave her alone. Turning in his blankets, he just hoped that Sam would write back soon.

The mighty roar of a dragon already resonated in the sky when he finally managed to drift into a fitful slumber.


	5. Lughnasadh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A THOUSAND THANKS TO DRAGONANDDIREWOLF FOR THE STUNNING FANART!!! I'm awed!! Show her some love on the original Tumblr post as well (and check out all of her amazing art!): https://dragonanddirewolf.tumblr.com/post/186358030501/a-little-fanart-for-thescarletgarden1990-s-fic
> 
> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza.
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

 

LUGHNASADH

 

“Look, look!” Gregor exclaimed, nudging his elbow against Jon's side. “Ah, the fool. Poor Marya is exasperated,” he laughed.

Jon turned his head to glance in the direction the man was indicating. True enough, Lucas was making a scene yet again, his face aflame as he stuttered, trying to talk to the innkeeper's pretty daughter with scarce success. Jon chuckled, shaking his head. “He reminds me of some of my old friends sometimes,” he wistfully murmured, thinking back on the few black brothers he had been able to call that. _Those who did not betray me_.

“Not a novice dealing with fools, then, eh?” the man smiled.

“You can say that,” Jon sighed amusedly, sipping on his cup of ale.

“What about you, Jon? You've been here some time, surely there must be some girl that caught your eye,” Fat Jorran inserted himself in the conversation, visibly tipsy.

Jon gulped, “Not really.” He tried really hard not to think about _her_ but clearly failed, for his mind was flooded by the image of Dany's big violet eyes. _Bloody hells._

Gregor laughed, his booming voice reverberating in the small tavern. “Aye, and I call bullshit on that!” he hollered, slapping Jon's back harshly in his amusement. “Or else why would you look so flustered? Ah, there's nothing wrong, Jon, a pretty lad like yourself, it's only right. Besides, the harvest festival is all the merrier with a pretty girl by your side.”

“The harvest festival?”

“Aye, a fortnight from now. That's why that fool over there,” he nodded towards Lucas in the distance, “is trying his hardest to woo poor Marya.”

“We're doing it after dark. Thank the Gods old and new that that fucking dragon is a heavy sleeper. It won't ruin the feast this time,” Alvar added, looking excited.

“Wait, did it do something?” Jon asked. _Did she?_

"Aye, two harvests ago. It kept coming close, and everyone was terrified. The last harvest we had the idea to do it at night since the beast never comes out after dark, and true enough it left us alone."

“I see,” he muttered, hiding his grimace behind the brim of his cup.

Jon could almost picture her, looming closer in curiosity as he had observed her do at times. _Oh, if only they knew the truth and saw her heart_...

Gregor interrupted his train of thought with another nudge. "I think ya have some choice, lad,” he winked, nodding towards the counter. Jon turned to see three girls of the village smiling at him, the one in the middle blushing prettily as the other two giggled at her sides. He had only barely talked to her and did not even remember her name.

“Ahhh, she's pretty,” Bennar slurred.

“Aye, she is,” he acquiesced with a shrug, downing the remnants of his ale. 

* * *

It had been a bit over two moons since he had received Sam's raven.

Taking advantage of the good weather, Jon settled to ride to the closest inn that received mail for the travellers, a few miles down on the road to Seagard, where he had instructed Sam to deliver his letters. While there were a few domesticated ravens in the village, they couldn't carry heavy mail, and Jon didn't trust the content of such correspondence to be accidentally seen by the people of Chert.

Even riding at a brisk pace, the journey still took the entire day, and what was even worse, it turned out to be for nought. Jon wrote a quick raven to Sam to let him know he was well and rode back to Chert. It was dark already when he arrived at the village, a black night with no moon. His neck prickled, senses on alert as he felt he was being observed.

Jon almost didn't see her through the undergrowth of the forest, only the tip of her pale braid peeking from the dark hooded cloak she wore.

When he saw her, she disappeared amidst the trees.

“Dany!” he called, urging his horse faster to catch up with her.

 _Damn, she's fast_. When Jon finally reached her, they had almost arrived at her clearing. “Hey, why are you running? It's me, Jon!” he called.

“I know it's you, you utter fool,” she sighed, coming to a stop in front of her door. She bit her lip, looking bashful. “I thought you left,” she let out in a murmur.

“I had something to do. Why, did you look for me?”

“No, I just-” she trailed off, exhaling a deep breath. “I just couldn't _smell_ you anymore.”

“Oh.” He slowly moved down from his horse, tying him outside Dany's house. She was fidgeting, nails carving at the doorframe, seemingly waiting for him to say something.

“Without saying goodbye, is that what you thought?” Dany nodded, not quite looking at him.

“Dany.” He moved closer, lifting her chin to make her look at him. “That's just foolish. I would never leave without saying goodbye.”

She shot him a suspicious glance that almost made him chuckle, but in the end, her posture relaxed and she let out a huff. "I know that. I was just curious."

There was another moment of silence, one in which Jon had to fight the urge to hug her until she melted into his arms.

“Come inside?” she finally asked, and he eagerly accepted. 

* * *

She had been so relieved when she had seen him that now she couldn't even fathom why she had worried so much in the first place. Dany was so used to seeing him, smelling his presence in the village, that when she realised he wasn't there, she had all but freaked out, swooping low on the village, letting out a cry that she was sure scared shitless all the people that witnessed it.

“Where were you?”

"I went to see if we had mail," he shrugged. "I left Sam instructions to an inn a few miles south. It's safer to keep the correspondence away from here."

“Do you not trust the people at the village?” she asked in a whisper.

“It's not that... but it's better to be safe than sorry.”

“Did we?” Dany inquired. “Have mail?”

“No, not yet.”

She cast her gaze to the ground, a bit disheartened by the absence of news. That dangerous spark of hope had festered inside her chest, crawling into her heart and making its nest in it.

“What if he never answers, Jon? What if he betrays us?” she asked, her voice strained. “He's training as a Maester! They hate us, the Citadel, they always hated us, they even hunted us in the past.”

“That's not going to happen. It's just too soon, that's all.”

“It's been moons already, Jon.” Dany bit her lower lip worriedly, avoiding his gaze so that he could not see the battle in her heart.

“Hey,” he called, tapping lightly on her wrist until she looked at him. “Sam is the most reliable person I know, Dany. He will help us, I promise. I trust him with my life. I can't say that about many others.”

Sadness formed a veil over his anthracite eyes, a pained downturn on his lips. Dany observed it all silently, his bout of melancholy quickly vanished behind a forced half-smile, but it was too late. She had seen it.

Dany turned her hand, trapping his wrist in a gentle hold. “I hope you're right, Jon Snow,” she softly murmured. He nodded and she let his arm go.

"We'll wait a bit longer," he said, steering the conversation back to their plans. "But in any case, we'll need to leave soon. The villagers are starting to ask questions, wondering where I disappear to all the time. They will suspect that something is wrong."

“I see,” she murmured.

“Wish that I could do more,” he shook his head, staring at his fidgeting hands. He gritted his teeth. “This pain you have to endure... it's not fair.”

“Apart from that, it's not that terrible being a dragon,” she smiled, trying to lift the atmosphere. “Flying is my favourite part. Have you ever seen the world from the top, Jon Snow? Been one with the wind?”

“I've been on the Wall. I was a brother of the Night's Watch,” he shrugged. “Not quite the same as flying, I suppose, but the sight from up there is unforgettable.”

“I thought the Night's Watch vows were for life.”

"They are." His eyes darkened, mouth set in a hard line. His mind went far away, in what she could bet was a dark place. It wasn't the first time she witnessed it, even considering the short time of their unexpected friendship, except this time he started trembling, his face going even paler than usual.

Dany grasped his hand over the table. “Jon. Jon, look at me.”

He shook his head, trying to hide from her.

“Jon, look at me,” she crooned, softer, standing to move closer to him. She cupped his cheeks, gently lifting his face so he could see her, and started singing in a low murmur, her eyes fixed on his grey ones until she could feel him relax in her hands. “Better?”

Jon nodded, looking still shaken. “Your hands are warm,” he commented quietly. “What was it? Some sort of calming spell?” he shyly asked after she let him go.

“What? No, no... it was the lullaby Mama Ame used to sing to me when I couldn't sleep.” Dany smiled, relieved at seeing that the crisis had passed. “It sure feels a bit like magic, does it not?”

Jon Snow didn't say anything, looking at her with an unreadable expression that sent shivers down her spine.

“Come to the clearing, tomorrow when the sun is higher,” she said. “I have something to show you.”

“How can I be sure you're not planning on eating me?” he teased. He was trying to fight whatever ghost was haunting him, forcing a shy smile on his lips.

“ _Jon Snow_ ,” she gasped, feigning outrage at his suggestion. “Oh, no, no, I would never eat you. You always wear too much leather I'd have to spit out. I'll make do with the sheep.”

“Ugh,” he grimaced, eyes squinting in disgust, which provoked a resounding burst of laughter from Dany.

The next day, he did as she asked, waiting for her in the clearing. Her dragon senses could smell the nervousness on him, but he kept his stance, looking at her right in the eyes. Dany stomped on the ground in front of Jon, craning her neck towards his body, so tiny when compared to her massive reptilian form.

It would be easier if she could speak, but she rolled her hide and extended her wing, nudging his shoulder with her snout so that he was forced to take a step towards her flank.

“What are you trying to do?” he asked, sounding nervous.

Huffing, she nudged him again towards her extended wing.

Jon finally understood, eyes going wide and his face paling visibly. “Do you mean- for me to _climb it_?”

She happily growled in confirmation, not completely understanding his reticence. He shuddered, then steadied himself. “Al-alright,” he muttered before finally using her spikes to pull himself up, climbing onto her wing. It was a clumsy thing, he almost slipped back down to the ground at one point, but he eventually got the hang of it and found a spot to settle on her back. “What now?”

Dany extended her wings, flapped them three times, and leapt in the air.

She could hear a string of shouted curses from the human on her back, his grip iron-strong on her spikes, but the sound was almost drowned in the howl of the wind. Dany flew, dived and spiralled in the air, genuinely amused at his reaction, until she steadied her flight and brought him over the sea. She could feel him calm down, hear his joyous cry, hollering at the sun.

For how long they flew, she didn't know. Eventually, Dany landed on her favourite cliff, the one she loved to hide on during the day. Jon Snow slid down, landing on the ground with wobbly legs, looking pale and unstable but with a grin so big she was surprised his usually broody face could manage it.

“ _Bloody hells!_ ” he let out as he slumped on the grass, panting and grinning. “That was- _wow_.”

“I never thought I would live to see a dragon,” he commented as they basked in the sun, watching the waves shatter against the rocks underneath their cliff.

Dany huffed in indignation, a small cloud of smoke exhaling from her nostrils.

“I know, I know, it's not funny,” he smiled. “But still, you're quite a marvel.”

She rolled her eyes but felt strangely happy at his compliments on her reptilian form. Dany lazily stretched, rearranging her enormous body on the cliff, going to curl a bit closer to the tiny human at her side. She nudged his shoulder with her snout, and Jon Snow patted her chin, scratching a scale that gave her great satisfaction.

Except for her painful metamorphosis, Dany liked being a dragon. Nothing felt better than flying and swooping in the air, unchallenged and mighty, powerful and free. Her emotions were a simpler thing when she wore the skin of a dragon, pleasure and displeasure, want and contentment, none of the tangled mess that was her human heart.

“If only I knew that my wildest dream would ever come true...” Jon spoke, laying down on the ground with his hands behind his head. “I used to dream of riding dragons, when I was a boy. I would extend my arms and flap them in the air, shouting I was Aemon the Dragonknight.” He sighed wistfully.

“You do look like a Targaryen, you know?” he asked, furrowing his brows. “At least, as I always pictured them to be... Maester Luwin always said they had silver hair as bright as the moonlight, with eyes like amethysts and such a beauty they didn't seem to belong to this world.” He closed his eyes, smiling under the kiss of the sun. “Just like you.”

Dany looked at him, suddenly happy that a dragon couldn't blush, but also frustrated that she couldn't speak until dusk. In the three moons of their acquaintance – it felt like friendship, really – she had come to trust this honourable, sullen warrior. Her most guarded secret, that of her identity – her mother had always warned her of the perils of her name and appearance, but she felt, deep in her bones, that she could trust Jon with it. _Tonight_ , she thought, placing her head back on the ground with a huff. 

* * *

“Thanks for today, Dany,” he smiled when they came back to her house, a steaming bowl of soup in front of them. “It was incredible.”

Dany stilled, tension gurgling in her stomach in the wake of her next revelation.

“It's Daenerys,” she murmured. “Daenerys Targaryen." Jon's eyes went so wide she was afraid they would fall out of their sockets. "But Mama Ame always called me Dany, so-"

“ _Seven hells!_ ”

"Aye, I think- She always warned me that I looked like my mother by blood and that someone might figure it out, so... that's why no one at the village knows me. I've always hidden here," she shrugged, although she felt as tense as a bowstring.

“How? I thought... I thought they all died-”

“Wiped away with the Rebellion, aye. That's when I was born.”

Jon nodded, silently asking her to continue.

"I'm Queen Rhaella's daughter. She died to give me life," she exhaled, casting her gaze on the table. "Nobody knew she was pregnant, and that's what saved me. Mama Ame said she felt a calling from the Old Gods, and that she followed it until she found me. She raised me as her own."

The stunned silence stretched in the room, until Jon spoke again, clearing his throat. “I'm so sorry for what happened to your mother, Dany.”

“Thank you,” she forced out. They stared at each other awkwardly, then Dany softly spoke again. “I'm trusting you with this... who I really am, Jon. If word gets to King's Landing... I don't know what-”

“Dany.” Jon grasped her hand, squeezing it. “I would _never_ betray your trust." He tugged at her hand, silently inviting her to look at him. "The Lannisters killed my family. My father was labelled as a traitor and beheaded in front of the whole city, my sister Sansa kept prisoner, and the gods only know where Arya is... if anything, I would like to see you _burn_ them. No word of your secret will come from me, to anyone. I promise you.”

“I believe you,” she whispered. “What of your home, Jon Snow? Of Winterfell? You told me it was sacked.”

"Betrayed and burned by Theon Greyjoy, stolen and profaned by the Boltons," he sneered. "My family has been wiped from existence, nobody left to claim it. Nothing hurt like the sight of those stones on my journey South."

“Is that why you're wandering around, Jon Snow? Because you don't have a place to call home?” There wasn't mock or disdain in her voice, only sympathy, and gratitude for what he shared with her.

“Aye,” he murmured.

“We both lost our families,” she spoke, turning her hand to intertwine her fingers with his. “This door will always be open for you.”

“Thank you, Dany,” he solemnly nodded, but she could see the glint of tears in his dark eyes. 

* * *

They became almost inseparable after that night, their bond strengthening in their shared ordeals, in their common solitude. Jon went to the clearing almost every night, seeking her out after dark. She was so different from their initial meeting, the skittish, distrusting woman evolving into a smiling, sweet girl that amazed him with her intelligence and her wit.

Brynna had started asking questions about his absences. He did realize he was running a risk, but he couldn't stay away from her.

When he was with Dany, his scars didn't hurt nearly as much as they usually did. He couldn't bring himself to tell her of his death, yet, although a part of him itched to let this burden out. Every time he was close to confessing it, it seemed as though she just _understood_ , without any need for words.

How could she not?

If anyone could understand the weight of his troubled soul, it was her kindred one. Since that night when he couldn't hide his despair from her, Dany would often sing for him. It was something that she confessed she loved to do when she was a child but that she hadn't done in a while. Her voice was sweet and soothing like honey, a cooling balm to his jagged soul.

“Oh no, you can't bloody dance, Dany,” he chuckled, observing her attempting to spin in a fit of giggles.

"Well, I'm sorry if nobody ever taught me!" she laughed, hiding her blushing face behind her hands. "Mama Ame was way too old to dance."

“Here,” he stood, prying her hands away from her face to take them in his own. “Follow my steps.”

Jon sang in a slow rhythm and stepped around with her, holding her hand, spinning slowly in a circle. She blushed even more, her wide violet eyes fixed on their joined hands. She was so beautiful, he felt he could stare at her for all eternity. His feet faltered and got tangled in the carpet. “Jon!” she laughed. “It's not like you're much better than me!”

“Never said I was,” he chuckled. “I just wanted to dance.”

“Let's try again, then.” 

* * *

Chert was being adorned for the festival, garlands of greens hanging from the doors. Alvar had asked for Jon's help to hang the lanterns over the small plaza at the center of the village.

“Aye, a little bit on the right! Lower, we need to light them up later. There should still be a nail in that tree somewhere, I hammered it there myself the last time.”

“Found it,” Jon murmured, attaching the lantern to the thick nail that protruded from the oak's bark.

Gregor was carrying some barrels of ale from the tavern, setting them down on the ground with a laboured huff. He stood, cracking his neck and wiping the sweat from his brow before he moved to approach him as he caught sight of Jon. “You coming tonight, aren't ya? You always seem to disappear lately. Is everything alright?” he asked, patting a hand on his back.

“Aye, don't worry. I just... needed some time alone.”

"You can tell me if there's something going on, you know?" He winked at him, casting a surreptitious glance around them. "A girl from the Maidford, maybe? For you to disappear so often, she can't be from Chert."

“Well-” Jon panicked, struggling to come up with something credible. “I don't know if she's from the Maidford, really.”

Gregor threw him a long glance before erupting in laughter. “I knew there was someone! It's alright, lad, you can keep your secrets.” He emphasized the comment with another heavy pat on Jon's back. “Just... don't do anything stupid, alright?”

“No, of course not,” Jon murmured, trying to shake off the dread from his stomach.

"It's almost dusk," Alvar called out when the roar of a dragon reverberated in the distance, making Gregor frown. "Better to finish quickly, before that dragon can think about wreaking mayhem on our decorations." He laughed at his own joke, going back to his work without sparing Jon a second glance. 

* * *

The darkness of the night caused Jon to emerge in the clearing stumbling over his feet. Dany was sitting on the steps of her house, wrapped up in her crimson cloak. “Jon? I thought you wouldn't come tonight.”

“Do you have a scarf?”

“What?”

“A scarf, something to cover your hair with. They shouldn't notice your eye colour with this darkness.”

“They? What are you talking about?” Dany asked, worried, jumping up from her seat.

Jon came to a stop in front of her, letting out a loud exhale. “Do you trust me?” he asked in the end.

The question left her speechless for a brief moment, but she found herself nodding, certainty taking root in her heart where there was once only diffidence. “I do.”

“There's something I want to do with you before we leave this place. Cover up, hide your hair, and if anyone asks, you're from the Maidford, alright? We're going to the harvest feast.”

“What?” she gaped, her heart beating frantically in her ribcage. Was he serious? _He can't be serious_ , she mused, panic flooding her.

Jon must have read her fear in her face. He smiled, cupping her cheek in a gentle hold. “We're leaving soon anyway, and I'll be with you the whole time. You have nothing to worry about.”

Dany felt as if two halves were battling inside her, to take control of her actions. One of them wanted to hide, to barricade herself inside her familiar, comfortable house until the whole feast would be over, but the other one... The other one was roaring to be let free, sending waves of excitement along her spine. It wanted to laugh, to talk, to dance, to experience the normality she never knew, to _live_.

Dany closed her eyes, her ears deafened by the sound of her own heartbeat. She exhaled a deep breath, then opened her eyes again. Jon was observing her, a hopeful, earnest smile on his face that made her insides melt.

That screaming voice inside her won over the nagging fear.

Dany nodded, although still in disbelief it was actually happening, before rushing inside her house to dress up. She quickly braided her long hair in a tight fishtail and concealed it under a black scarf, checking in her crooked little mirror that no hair would peek out from it.

Her hands trembled in fear and excitement. Dany had never been outside her forest before, not in her human skin anyway. But oh, how much she had wanted it. She never reached out for the company of humans before, too scared of the dangers that awaited her in the harsh, vast world that had wiped away her family, but with Jon at her side... _Aye, I can do it._

_Oh gods, I can't believe I'm actually doing it._

Gulping, she nodded at her figure in the mirror, straightening her spine. _I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, and I will survive a bloody harvest feast._

“Let's do this,” she murmured, before heading out of the door and grasping Jon's proffered hand. 

* * *

It had been a rushed decision, but one he didn't regret. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, afraid he would miss one of those sparks of emotion that flickered so openly on her face, that he could read as easily as if they were his own.

Her pale skin was illuminated by the glow of the fires and by the pink flush on her cheeks. Her eyes, deep indigo in the velvety darkness of the night, sparkled brightly with a thousand different fleeting thoughts. There was fear in the way she hid behind him, clutching her cloak closer to her and lowering her gaze, but there was strength in the way she straightened her spine and sang with a clear voice, wonderment in the smile that never wavered from her face.

It was like watching a flower bloom.

As he had suspected – as he had _hoped_ – everyone was way too far in their cups to pay attention to them. He caught the snickering of a couple of the men that had become friends of sorts, Fat Jorran even winked at him when he saw Dany at his side, but in the end, everyone was too busy getting drunk or getting fat or dancing themselves to exhaustion to pay too much attention to the two of them.

“I know this song!” she clapped when the rowdy orchestra started playing a lively, fast tune. Jon stood and reached a hand out to her. “Come on, Dany,” he invited. “Let's go make fools of ourselves.”

She smiled, shyly at first, but then her grin grew bigger and she nodded, taking his hand and following him into the circle of drunken dancers in the middle of the plaza.

They spun around for a while, their hands touching lightly until they changed partners, again and again until Jon couldn't see her anymore. There was a tug of anxiety at the pit of his stomach as he surveyed the crowd to catch sight of her, but with her petite frame and the black scarf covering her tell-tale hair, he couldn't.

She fell in his arms again shortly after, flushed and cheerful, almost stumbling them both to the ground.

“I feel dizzy,” she breathed, laughing.

“Mead and dancing can often do that,” he chuckled, helping her to a nearby bench. “Better?”

“Mh-hm,” she hummed, closing her eyes, that soft sweet smile still on her lips.

Only when she opened them again, pinning him under her deep violet gaze, he realized how close to her he had leaned.

“Thank you, Jon.”

_I want to kiss her._

“For this, tonight-” her voice broke slightly, eyes going glassy. “It's all I ever wanted.” She took his hand, squeezing his slightly. “So I thank you. I'll never forget this night.”

Jon nodded, gulping down the urge to touch her. “I did nothing, Dany.” He let out a content sigh when she leaned her head on his shoulder, singing along with the villagers, smiling and happy and beautiful. 

When his brother visited him that night, he was laughing.

_It's been a while._

“You looked busy,” Robb chuckled, cradling his son in his lap.

_Aye. I have to look forward, brother._

Robb sobered, but a faint smile lingered on his lips. “You do. You've dwelled on the past long enough.”

_I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go, where to belong._

“It never comes easy, Jon. To find your place, it never does.” His cold hand covered the crescent scar on his chest. “But you weren't made for the ordinary.”

Jon didn't know what to say to that.

“I won't come again.”

 _Are you going to leave me again? No, brother..._ He tried to reach out to Robb, but his limbs felt heavy, too heavy.

“Never. But you must look forward.” His smile was sad and earnest. “You will know what to do when the time comes.”

* * *

A sennight later, he was waiting for her in the clearing, sitting on the stone steps that led to her home, his back propped up against the red door. There was a strange smile on his face, one that made her feel almost nervous.

He jumped up from his place when she landed in the clearing, shrugging off his cloak to offer her as he always did. She eagerly accepted his help – his furs always smelled of pine and something wolfish and alluringly male – and headed inside.

Jon sighed, gently placing some parchment on the table, letting it slide toward her in invitation.

Daenerys cautiously took it, a feeling of unease at the pit of her stomach. “What is it?” she asked.

“It's Sam's reply. There's a lot we should talk about.”

Nodding, she opened the folded parchment to read it aloud.

_Dear Jon,_

_When news came that there was a new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, I feared the worst, until I received your raven. I heard disquieting rumours of how it came to be, some so otherworldly I couldn't possibly believe them._

_I reckon you might not want to discuss it by letter, and I look forward to meeting you again, my friend, so that we can talk over some Northern ale – I would never have guessed that I would miss it in the South – so that you can tell me all about the tale. I'm sure it will be a fascinating one._

_There's something you must know before I disclose to you the results of my research: Edd wrote to me barely a few days ago, because he didn't know where to find you and he wondered if you had reached out to me. Not much information was disclosed in his raven, but he said there's someone at the Wall waiting for you, someone that you would want to meet and that is loyal to you. He didn't tell me anything else, but his secrecy makes me think it might be something important._

_In regards to your request – not that I'm unused to some queer ones – I sure hope you're not in some kind of trouble, Jon. Has it anything to do with Maester Aemon? I researched far and wide, but as you may know, the Citadel always had an... ambiguous relationship with the Dragonlords, and everything we know about dragons comes from them._

_Also, this kind of magic you told me about... it seems the kind of magic the Order of the Maesters frowns upon the most. I have to admit my research wasn't fruitful, sadly, but with further inquiry, I came to know something that might be useful for whatever... thing it is that you're up to._

_I know it's unexpected, but Maester Walgrave once heard from another Maester who was appointed-_

“Damn Sam,” Jon muttered, rolling his eyes. “He can be so wordy.”

- _in the North, that Winterfell's library had some ancient and precious tomes on magic and dragon lore. Winterfell, Jon! The answer to your questions might be at your very home._

“Winterfell?” Dany exclaimed. “But that's-”

"That's a problem, that's what it is," Jon gravely stated. "I doubt the Boltons will let us stroll in the library as if nothing happened."

Dany hummed lightly, biting her lower lip, deep in thought.

“No, they will not,” she agreed, a smirk spreading on her face. “That's why we'll need a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends Act I. I will skip the next scheduled update, cause it would be on the 15th of April and everyone (me included) will be too busy freaking out about the first episode to think about witches, lol. 
> 
> See you on the 1st of May for chapter 6, which marks the beginning of Act II!


	6. Queensgate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! Long time no see!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza.
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

 

ACT II | QUEENSGATE

 

The cold wind whipped relentlessly against Jon's face, making the skin of his cheeks sting, his vision blurring as his eyes watered. He carefully pulled the collar of his cloak tighter around his neck, struggling to keep his iron-strong hold on Dany's spikes. _Don't look down_ , he scolded himself as they flew over Winterfell, that familiar pain in his chest making him feel nauseous.

A low growl came from beneath him, and she craned her neck slightly to cast him an inquisitive glance.

“I'm alright, Dany,” he reassured her while stroking her scales. “Let's find somewhere to camp.”

The wind drowned out most of his words, but Dany seemed to understand him nonetheless, flapping her wings with renewed vigour, her speed picking up. She pivoted in the air, dipping into the low cold clouds that hovered on the Wolfswood, searching for a point far from the villages where they could dive amidst the trees.

Their descent wasn't smooth, Dany's enormous body impacting and snapping against the branches in absence of a clearing as large as the one of her home. His hands bruised against the spikes he was holding onto for dear life, the force of his grip enough to abrade his palms.

Dany landed with a loud _thump_ , crashing and uprooting a few trees in the process. When she finally stilled, he was lying flat on her back, his heart beating erratically in his chest. Dany craned her neck in his direction, purring. “Bloody hells,” he groaned, untying the satchels from the dragon's back and sliding down her flank. He felt a bit wobbly on his legs, but flying was the fastest way to reach Castle Black, and also the best means to hide a dragon, up in the clouds.

Sure, it wasn't the most comfortable way to travel, but her scales were warm against his body, her reassuring purrs reverberating through him.

Jon surveyed the area, frowning at the orange rays of light filtering into the damaged canopy of the trees. “It will do,” he commented, mostly to himself.

“Would you-” Dany had pushed the broken branches together and set them on fire. “That. Exactly that,” he chuckled.

He moved to sit on the ground close to her, her tail immediately curling around him. _Dragons are fire made flesh_ , and Dany's body radiated a warmth that made him feel dozy, his eyes closing in relaxation until she started shivering. She tore apart from him, screeching and contorting in pain.

Jon's teeth gritted as she morphed, frustration rising when he couldn't help her. When her growls and roars made way to her feminine cries, he rose and unclasped his cloak from his shoulders, moving to engulf her shaking naked form in its comforting warmth. While she recovered, he fished her clothes from one of their satchels, then left her to her privacy and set to prepare some sort of dinner with the few provisions they had brought.

Dany approached him a few moments later, slumping down on the grass with a tired huff, and he instinctively curled an arm around her shoulders, stroking her back in comfort. “Are you alright?”

“Mh-hm,” she nodded, shifting slightly closer to him. “Just tired and hungry.”

“We will be there tomorrow,” he reassured her, passing her the piece of bread and hard cheese he had just warmed on the fire. “There's no turning back, now,” Jon attempted to joke.

“If I look back, I'm lost,” she gravely stated, but there was the hint of a smile on her lips. “Won't you miss being friends with a dragon, if we finally break this curse?”

“ _When_ we break this curse I will still be bragging about being the only dragonrider alive.”

She laughed then, the clear sound reverberating through the forest. _Success_ , he inwardly smiled.

Their meager supper was consumed in silence, both of them staring in the flames. It was only later, as the moon rose in the sky, that she broke the silence, her voice a whisper.

“Jon, what are we going to do?”

He turned to look at her, observing the serious set line of her mouth. She was hovering her hand over the flames, the fire licking at her fingers. It wasn't the first time she let him witness it, but still, he had to force down his concern and stop himself from tearing her hand away from the heat.

“We stick to the plan,” he quietly answered instead. “Unless you changed your mind, that is.”

“No.” Dany shook her head. “I can't keep going on like this forever. I will not live in fear,” she promised, looking at him.

“Good,” Jon nodded. “Then it's set.”

“I just don't get why you have to leave me,” she frowned.

“I don't trust them, Dany. I was in the Night's Watch, I know them. I don't trust them anywhere near you.”

“I'm not a helpless maiden, Jon. I have powers, I can defend myself from a few... _guys in black_ ,” she scoffed.

"I know that from experience," Jon sighed, squeezing his eyes closed. This specific part of their plan had been cause of endless arguments in the previous nights, but in the end, he thought he had convinced her to hide in Queensgate. "Dany, please. Just trust me on this. I'm not hiding you forever, I just need to... test the waters."

“I'm tired.”

Jon had to bite back a smile. She was stubborn and proud, and her face sometimes slipped into an adorable pout without her even realizing it.

“Here, take these,” he invited, fishing some furs from one of their many satchels. “Sleep a while. It'll be a long flight tomorrow, too, if we mean to arrive before nightfall.”

She shrugged, burrowing herself into the furs and in his cloak, lying on the ground close to the fire, her back turned to him. Jon rolled his eyes.

“Dany.”

She didn't move, the only sounds that could be heard the crackling of the bonfire and the howling of the wind.

“Dany,” he tried again, shifting closer to her. “I'm not going to leave you, I promise. It will be like it was back at home.”

She sighed, then, a loud huff before she rolled over onto her side to finally look at him. “It will never be the same, Jon.” There was a moment of pause, then she confessed in a whisper, “I'm scared.”

“I know. But you're strong, Dany, and I won't leave you alone for long.”

There was a hint of a smile on her lips, although she tried to suppress it. “I'll hold you up to that.” Her fingers grazed against his own, her warmth curling around the scarred tissue of his knuckles, and they drifted asleep like that, not quite holding their hands.

When he awoke, his back aching after a night on the cold ground, it was still dark, although some semblance of light could be seen on the eastern sky. Somehow, he had rolled closer to Dany while he slept – or had it been she who had done so? - her warm, soft body pressed against his own.

Jon squeezed his eyes shut, breathing her scent in. They had never been this close, their limbs entangled under the cocoon of their furs, her breath tickling his neck. _For warmth_ , he repeated to himself, but it felt like a lie as her fingers curled around his arm in her sleep, as his breath caught in his throat and his groin tightened. Dany was still deeply asleep, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that brewed in his thoughts, his body still, afraid to move as if that would break the spell.

That was, until she started shaking. It was just a tremble at the beginning, like she was dreaming, but then her eyes flew open and she jolted away from him, looking unsteady. Dany quickly disentangled herself from the furs, panting, and paced around their little camp, undressing frantically and scattering items of clothing around.

He tried not to look, but it was difficult to tear his eyes away from her convulsing form. He had been aroused merely moments ago, but now he only felt helpless.

She crouched down on the ground, naked, emitting terrible moans while cradling her head in between her hands. The cries turned feral, becoming hoarse and guttural. A patchwork of scales starting at her back, slowly flared across her skin, covering the once unblemished expanse in a reptilian pattern. Horns erupted from her crown as her silver hair retreated and turned black as night. She dropped her head, waving it back and forth in pain. Jon had to look away when her petite form started to elongate and enlarge. The shifting of the misshapen bones and joints that were sliding and popping into the familiar anatomy of a dragon, horribly stretching her now black scaled skin. One last rasping cry turning into a pitching roar signalled that the transformation was complete.

Dany pushed off, the flapping of her wings causing a mild cyclone as she flew away, screeching and spitting fire towards the sky, leaving him alone and brooding beside the fire. He rose from his furs and started packing their things in silence, collecting her clothes from the ground and carefully folding them.

When she finally came back, having tamed the horrible pain her transformations burdened her with, the sun already peeked from above the treeline of the forest and he was ready to go. Jon patted her scales before climbing on her back, trying to comfort her. “Are you alright?”

She huffed, a small cloud of smoke erupting from her nostrils, nudging him with her snout until he was sat in position on her back, and she took flight with a powerful push of her legs.

* * *

When she first caught sight of the Wall, the imposing ice barrier glittering in the distance, she gasped, almost coughing in her own smoke. It was way bigger than what her imagination had been able to conjure, the pale blue ice reflecting the scarce sunlight. _We need to hurry_ , she berated herself, the sun already lowering on the horizon.

She could feel that Jon was tired, but they had both agreed that it was best to arrive as soon as possible, and not waste too many nights to camp amidst the snow. He was almost lying on her back, giving her indications on how to adjust her route.

When they loomed closer, she could catch the first glimpses of the small black shapes that were the castles along the Wall, the contrast stark on the pale ice.

“That one right there,” Jon said, pointing north-east to a half-ruined castle. “That's Queensgate.”

Huffing, she pivoted left, hiding in the clouds as she reached their planned destination.

The sky was already turning dark, the familiar aches rattling through her body when she finally landed in the courtyard. Jon hurried away from her, unburdening her back from the weight of their possessions before she thrashed and tossed around the ruined space, her body shrinking and changing.

She wasn't even done transforming back into her human form when she felt the familiar weight of Jon's fur cloak around her shoulders, his hands rubbing her back through the thick material to warm her up.

“We made it in time,” she weakly observed.

"Aye, you did," he smiled, handing her clothes. "Let's settle you inside. It's not the best accommodation, but some rooms should still be in decent conditions."

Queensgate was grey and ominous, far from welcoming in its imposing sternness and in its state of slowly advancing decay. The whole place was desert, save from the few crows that cawed in the distance, a thin white fog surrounding the castle like a shroud.

“It looks... cold,” she commented, hearing Jon suppress a scoff at her evident understatement.

“It _is_ cold,” he nodded, guiding her inside a small tower that looked like it was faring slightly better than the other buildings. “Will you be alright?”

“I can summon fire at my command, that will help,” she shrugged. “I was never happier about such power before.”

It always made her smile when she managed to elicit one of those charming half-laughs from his lips, and she grinned in victory when he suppressed a chuckle at her statement.

“Here.” Jon gently tugged at her elbow, opening a wooden door that led to what looked like it had been a comfortable room, in the past. Now, though, a thick layer of dust covered every piece of furniture in sight, making the entire place look strangely grey.

“It's... not the best we could hope for, I know,” he sighed dejectedly. “But it's the best we got for now.”

“I will be fine, Jon.”

“I won't leave you alone, I promise. I'll be here as often as I can.”

“I know,” she nodded, her gaze cast on the ground. She took a few steps inside, glancing at the hearth, empty but for a few pieces of charred wood. In the blink of an eye, a bright fire illuminated the soot-covered stones, casting a more welcoming glow in the room.

There was awe in Jon's eyes as she turned to look at him. “Will you need more wood?”

“Aye, thank you.”

“Just... wait here,” he muttered before disappearing through the door.

With a sigh, she slumped on the bed, coughing when a small cloud of dust mushroomed up and around her. There were some candles around, although not many, and she lit them too.

It seemed forever before Jon finally came back again, a small stack of chopped wood in his arms. Dany had somehow cleaned the space, trying to air out the bed at least a bit, although she still grimaced at the thought of having to spend the night in such unwelcoming accommodations.

“Here, that's all I could find,” he explained, placing a few of the blocks into the hearth, and the rest just beside it. “I'll bring more tomorrow. And fresh linens, too.” Jon stood, brushing his hands against his breeches with a sigh. “I'm sorry, Dany, I know this is far from ideal-”

“I will be fine.”

“Still... I'm sorry.” He seemed to be mulling for a moment, then he glanced at the tiny windows and marched towards them, closing the moth-eaten drapes shut. “It's better if we close these. I don't want to risk anyone seeing a lit fire inside what should be an abandoned castle.”

He was anxious, she could see, almost behaving like he was about to walk into a lion's den, instead of his former brotherhood.

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

“Will you stay at least tonight? It's late already, you can start off for Castle Black tomorrow.”

He seemed uncertain, casting her a thoughtful glance, but he finally nodded. “Aye. Aye, I will stay tonight.”

That made her happier than she had felt all day.

Jon needed some coaxing before he accepted to sleep on her same bed – like she would let him lie on the ground – but he relented, eventually, piling his furs up with hers, their bodies not quite touching, but close, so very close. _For warmth_ , she tried to reason, but it felt like a lie. Especially as her pulse quickened, blood running hot in her veins as she observed his profile in the faint light that came from the hearth. His closed eyes, the bridge of his nose, his plump lips slightly parted in his slumber. His presence was an anchor and a necessity, from his hardened, strong warrior's body to the unwavering care and loyalty he had shown her.

Dany could barely fathom how she had managed to survive her loneliness before Jon came into her clearing, changing her life and winning her heart.

* * *

Jon woke up well before dawn.

Dany was still sleeping at his side, all distance forgotten in their slumber. When he finally stirred, a treacherous part of him wanted to stay with her, to bask in her warmth and in the softness of her skin, but he shook those dangerous thoughts from his mind with a silent sigh.

He had to focus. They had a mission to accomplish.

Dany mumbled something in her sleep when he gently tried to disentangle himself, her arms tightening around his waist. Her plush pink lips parted, a huff of warm breath on his neck that made his heart skip a beat and his cock stir. He had to bite his tongue to stifle a groan.

_Others take me._

She was so lovely when she slept, he could watch her for hours on end. He hated to leave her, but he couldn't stay there. Sighing, he bent over, placing a feather-light kiss on her crown, hoping it wouldn't wake her, but thankfully she only stirred. It was still early, but without a horse, the trek to Castle Black would take most of the day, so he decided not to waste any more time.

* * *

The sight of that dreaded amass of black stones made him sick to his stomach, the rising nausea leaving the taste of bile on his tongue.

He thought he had left this place behind him for good, but yet here he was.

“Who's there?” the guard shouted as soon as he was spotted.

Sighing, Jon pulled the hood down, revealing his face. It was only a few minutes before the heavy wooden gates opened to him, a few black brothers approaching him with Edd leading the way.

“For all the gods, Jon!” His friend hugged him tightly, clasping a hand on his shoulder, emotion clear in the tone of his voice. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“Aye. I thought the same.”

“Come. There's much we should talk about.”

Jon nodded, swallowing the feeling of dread. He followed Edd as he headed to the Lord's tower, but as he walked, his gaze fell on a corner of the courtyard that held his worst memories.

_That's where I died._

_I died._

Edd was talking.

“- we tried to reach out to you, but we had no idea where you were. I'm glad Sam managed to find you,” he ruefully smiled, pushing open the door to the tower and heading inside, climbing up the stairs.

“Aye.”

“She was safe with us, Jon, that much I can promise you. There's been a different atmosphere here since you hanged those bloody traitors. Better, if I-”

“Jon!”

He whipped his head up to the source of the unexpected feminine cry. A door had opened in the short hallway in front of them. A tall, beautiful woman was standing in the threshold, her lips trembling with emotion. Hair as red as a flame, eyes as blue as the ocean... so many years had passed, but he would recognize those Tully features anywhere.

“Sansa?”

In a second, her arms were around his neck, his long-lost sister sobbing against his chest.

“Oh, Jon, you're alive! You're alive!”

The relief was so sudden it nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs. _My sister_ , he thought, hugging her back, tears stinging at his eyes. _My sister is alive._

“I reckon you'll have some catching up to do... I'll leave you two alone,” Edd smiled, grasping his shoulder in a friendly gesture before disappearing back from where they came.

“Sansa... What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you. Imagine my surprise when I came here and I found out you left the Night's Watch.” Jon grimaced at her words, the now familiar pain flaring in his chest at the remainder. _Oathbreaker_ , a treasonous voice whispered in his head.

Sansa seemed to sense his discomfort.

“They told me what happened... The new Lord Commander did,” she exhaled, sounding suddenly insecure. “It's hard to believe, I almost didn't want to, but- but I know you would not have left otherwise.”

“Sansa.” It was a warning.

“I have my own scars to show,” she continued. “Come. Let us settle. So much has happened, I feel like we're not the same people as when we last saw each other.”

“We most definitely aren't.”

“But we're family still,” she stated, determination shining in her eyes. “I know I used to be terrible to you when we were young, but...” Sansa sighed, fidgeting. “I was young and stupid, and I couldn't see value where it lied. Let me make amends to you, brother. Let me be a sister.”

"There's nothing to amend, Sansa," he smiled, softening at the genuine tone of her words. He followed her inside the room she was residing in and didn't leave her side for the whole night.

It turned out Sansa had been through her own hell, and came out of it hardened, disillusioned and hurt. The mere thought of her suffering made Jon's blood boil in his veins. He wanted to kill them with his own two hands, all of those who had caused the ruin of his family. He wanted to see them suffer.

“How did you manage to escape?”

“Theon helped me,” she weakly smiled. Seeing him tense, she rushed her words, frantically trying to explain. “I know what he did, but he's been through his own inferno, Jon. He's not the same person we used to know. Ramsay... he _broke_ him.”

“Still, Sansa. None of that would have happened if-”

“I know,” she interjected. “I know. But he helped me survive. That must count for something.”

Jon gritted his teeth, clenched trembling fists in his lap. He couldn't really say anything to that, but if he ever had Theon in front of him... The only reason he wouldn't kill him was sitting in front of him, pleading at him with expressive blue eyes.

“Jon,” she gulped, her voice becoming small. “He has Rickon.”

 _Dread_. That was the feeling that made his stomach clench into knots, bile rising in his mouth. The image of Rickon, his wild little brother with the messy auburn curls, appeared in front of him, begging to be saved.

“No, Sansa...” Jon shook his head, wanting to reject the horrible truth.

“He will kill him, Jon. He wants to keep Winterfell to himself.”

“That won't happen.”

“ _Jon_. I know him, and I know that Rickon is already lost-”

“ _That won't happen_. Not while I'm alive, Sansa.”

Sansa bit her lip, looking at him curiously. “What do you mean to do?”

“We save our brother. We take back our home.” _We save Dany._

“How?” she scoffed. “With the Wildlings? He has an army, Jon! People that betrayed us!”

“Aye, Sansa, the Wildlings! And the Lords that are still loyal to the Stark name! Whoever is willing to fight for us!” he all but shouted. “I won't let my brother die in his hands! The gods know how much I regretted being holed up in this despicable place, while my family was being _slaughtered!”_

“It's not different for me, Jon, but-”

“But we are together now, Sansa. _The pack survives_. And... we're not alone. You'll see. Not this time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can't tell you more, not yet, but you will see. This is our chance to get our home back. We can win and _we will_.”

Sansa sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Alright. So what are we going to do?”

“We call what banners still answer to the Stark name. They will fight for the daughter of Winterfell.”

“Will they?” she bitterly wondered. “Married twice, first to a Lannister and then to that... to that monster.” Her voice was but a whisper.

“You're still a Stark,” he softened, pressing a kiss on her head. “We'll save him, Sansa. We have to.”

* * *

Jon came back to her after two days, bringing food and fresh linens and the company she had missed since landing in the courtyard of this miserable, frozen castle.

“So you didn't forget.”

“Never,” he sighed. “I was held back.” Jon slumped down on the bed next to her, watching her intently with his dark, searching gaze. “Sansa is at Castle Black.”

“Your sister?” Dany gasped.

“Aye. She managed to escape from Ramsay Bolton after being forced to marry him. He- he tortured her-” His voice broke, unable to repeat out loud the horrors his sister had suffered at the monster's hands, but he didn't need to say it aloud for Dany to understand. She reached for his hand, engulfing the scarred skin in her soft warmth.

“He has Rickon.”

It was but a choked sob, the tears finally springing from his eyes. Dany tightened her arms around his shoulders, letting him cry against her. Her fingers caressed his curls in an attempt to soothe him. “We'll save your brother, Jon,” she murmured against his ear. “Together.”

“Dany, if anything happens to you-”

“I _will_ fight. We came here because you promised me your help, and now I'm promising you mine.” She smirked, “Besides, what's the point of being a dragon if I can't rain fire and blood on those who stole your home and harmed your family?”

“It's not your fight-”

“Don't you _dare_ , Jon Snow,” she scolded him, frowning. “After all, the key to breaking my curse might be in Winterfell, and even if it wasn't the case...” she trailed off, biting her lip. “You deserve to have your home back and your brother in your arms. You did everything in your power to help me, so _please_ , let me do the same.”

Jon stayed still for a long moment, but then he relented, nodding. She could see that it pained him, but he wasn't fighting her on it anymore.

“Before I forget, Dany...” he cleared his throat, turning to rummage in a satchel he brought along with him. “I... I brought you something that should be yours.” He produced a few dusty old books and piles of folded parchment, handling them carefully.

“What is it?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“You see, you're not the first Targaryen I met,” he said, fingering the carvings on the cover of one of the books. “The Maester at Castle Black was Aemon Targaryen. Brother of Aegon the Fifth, I believe.”

There was another, family she never knew about, but the meaning of Jon's phrasing wasn't lost on her. “When did he die?” she asked quietly.

"A year ago, maybe even more." Jon intertwined his fingers with hers. "He was old and died a peaceful death. He was a great man, Dany. Wise, kind, a seeker of knowledge. These-" he nodded towards the books that were still in his lap, "- are his journals and letters. You should keep them."

Tears pricked at her eyes, her throat constricting. She let her fingers graze over the cover of the book closest to her, then she carefully flipped the pages, observing the neat, elegant handwriting of her great-uncle.

* * *

When Jon left again, she knew it would be for longer.

"We're calling the banners. We'll need an army if we mean to challenge the Boltons on the battlefield, so we can beat them without destroying the castle," he had explained. "I'll be back as soon as I can, but this is something I must do. They will not fight for me if I hide here, sending others to talk on my behalf."

Dany understood that, but it didn't make her feel any less lonely. She was stuck in that unfamiliar and unwelcoming place all by herself, her only respite to be found in the treasure that was now stacked neatly on the small desk that graced her temporary room, and to which she dedicated the entirety of her nights.

Unknowingly to him, Jon had given her the best gift she could have asked for. Amidst the pile of letters, Dany found the voices of her family. Her brother Rhaegar, her mother Rhaella, both had written letters to her long-lost great-uncle, and Dany read them again and again in the faint candlelight of the room, murmuring the words until she knew them by heart, memorizing the handwriting of each until her eyes hurt.

For all the stories that Mama Ame had told her about her family, the old, kind witch had never known them personally, having only spoken with her dying mother but for a brief moment.

Dany had spent her whole life trying to picture her lost family members, her kind brother and beautiful mother, but those were the mere fantasies of a lonely young girl, but this... their voices finally spoke back to her, trapped on the yellowed parchment that she had to be careful not to stain with her tears.

Like a riddle, she put together what transpired of their personalities, searching between the lines for any clue to what they might have been like, building their picture in her mind anew.

She would never be grateful enough to Jon for this wondrous gift.

Her brother's voice was gentle and quiet-spoken, but she could hear that he was burdened by the weight of their mad father, although he never penned the words. There was worry in his letters, a sense of impending doom that she couldn't quite figure out, but also admiration for their great-uncle's wisdom and extended knowledge, and a gentleness that made her yearn for a glimpse of her brother's smile.

Her mother's letters varied wildly during the years, sounding more and more ominous as the date on the parchment grew closer to the time of the Rebellion. She wasn't happy about her marriage, that much was clear, and she worried a great deal about the welfare of the Kingdoms her husband ruled.

Mama Ame never talked much about Aerys, only saying that he was mad and cruel and that she didn't need to miss him, and now Dany understood the reason like she never had before.

But oh, how she missed her mother, her gentle words and quiet melancholy hinting at her sweetness and her good heart. There was such love in the way she talked about her children, it made Dany yearn for a bit of that affection.

There was one letter, in particular, that always made her cry uncontrollably, sobbing into her pillow until her eyes would run dry.

It was her mother's last letter to Aemon.

_My dear uncle,_

_I'm in Dragonstone, and so relieved to be stepping on these stones again. I wish you could be here._

_Our family is falling apart, my dear Aemon. My husband's foolishness has finally turned its ugly head against us all. I do not miss his cruelty, not at all, but it killed my sweet son, who lies beneath the Trident's waters. I will never hold him again against my breast, neither will I hear the laughter of my grandchildren._

_I'm scared, dear uncle. I pray this foolish war will not knock at our doors, I pray that this island will protect me and my poor Viserys and the babe that's growing in my womb. My children are my only hope, the only reason why I didn't throw myself amidst the ocean's waves, letting the sea creatures banquet on my grief._

_I hope it will be a girl this time. A sweet daughter with hair like the moonlight and laughter in her eyes, and that she may be happy and safe and kind. I shall name her Daenerys, for her kindness and good nature. She will be born for greatness, I know it, I can feel it. I can see it in my dreams, although the memories of them are confused._

_May the gods let her live, this time. May they let my dreams come true. I can't bear any more losses. My heart will break, and I will die if any ill befall this child of mine._

_You may think me mad, uncle, but I'm certain she will live. I dreamt of her so many times already, her laughter filling my heart with the joy and hope this war has tried to rob me. I love her so much already, my dear uncle. I love my sweet Daenerys._

_I miss you dearly, Aemon. I'm afraid we won't meet again. I know I will die, I know I won't survive this war and the storm of madness that is wiping away our family... My only regret is that I will not see my children grow, but if I can save them somehow, if my life can protect theirs, then I will die with a smile on my lips. I will be with my sweet Rhaegar again, watching over my other children._

Dany cried so much that her mouth went dry, the sobs painful against her raw throat. It was an ache that spread from her heart, spasming her whole body with grief. Her hand went to grasp tightly at the scar laid over it, the few dragon scales that never left her, even in the dead of the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so. I have things to say.
> 
> First of all, season 8 is not canon, it never even happened, except for *maybe* the first two episodes. After that, it's all just mad speculation made on a high budget by anti-Dany assholes who totally hate Jon, too. Fight me, and I will die on this hill.
> 
> Second, THANK YOU. ❤️❤️❤️ I was feeling pretty desperate when I published that note on Dust Under Brightness at the beginning of this week, but the overwhelming love and support I received made me feel 10.000 times better, and I decided I will keep on writing out of spite for Dumb&Dumber and out of love for y'all amazing people. You said to me that you need us writers in this dark moment, but the truth is that us writers need you too, so it's important that we all support each other right now. I feel so so blessed to be part of this amazing fandom, even if they tried to kill us all of heartache. ❤️
> 
> JON AND DANY BELONG TO US, NOW.
> 
> This story will continue. It will get angsty, be aware, but after that, it will end gloriously well, like a fucking Disney movie - watch me being totally unapologetic about it. I will finish In the Midnight Hour and Dust Under Brightness, too - and I may have ideas for other stories as well.
> 
> Your support made me find the will to continue, so I really have to thank you for it. Thank you, thank you, thank you. ❤️
> 
> The next chapter is currently being edited. I might wait until after the finale - even though I'm not watching this shitshow anymore - before I post it, but it will definitely be up at some point. I can't really keep up with my publishing schedule anymore cause the grief after the 4th episode made me stop writing for a while and ruined my whole plan, but I will do my best not to make you wait for ages between the chapters. 
> 
> Thank you again, folks. You gave me your love when I most needed it, let me repay you by sticking around and trying to write my best. ❤️


	7. Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now and always, FUCK CANON.
> 
> This fic is my love letter to the characters. They belong to us, now. Gotta protecc them from those two incompetent fucks who earned a shitton of money out of their butchering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza.
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

 

BEFORE THE STORM

 

Raising an army was proving to be far more taxing than what Jon's mind could have ever conjured at the beginning.

“The answer is no.”

“Lord Glover, if you could just hear us out-”

“I've heard enough. We've only just taken this castle back from the Ironborn. The Boltons helped us doing it.”

Jon had to refrain from gritting his teeth, and he could see Sansa doing the same in his peripheral vision. He tried to argue, but it was like talking to a pile of bricks. Not even Sansa's words were enough to convince the stubborn lord.

In the end, they left with empty hands and a feeling of helplessness and humiliation. Oh, if he ever had Theon in front of him again... Jon scoffed, in the end, it was all the traitor's fault. Even if Sansa did not agree with him on this, and kept defending him. It drove Jon mad.

So far, only House Mormont had answered to their plea, and Jon had the impression it was mostly thanks to Davos' intervention. The tiny Lady Mormont was fierce, that much was undeniable, but she could only pledge a very limited number of soldiers to their cause.

The involvement of the Free Folk had caused most lords to refuse the call. How the lot of them would sooner accept the Boltons as their liege lords than fight alongside the Wildlings was unfathomable to him, but then again, not really unexpected.

He had already died, once, for this very reason.

Sansa had tried multiple times to inquire on the kind of help he was counting on, but Jon didn't want to reveal Dany's presence yet. The battle was far away still, and despite her powers, he still thought it was best to hide her for as long as possible. The mere idea of putting her in danger made him feel sick to his stomach.

Dany had been insistent that she could fight, and he would be a fool to refuse such great help. Besides, she would probably defy him nonetheless. _But_ _until then, I will keep her safe_.

He had been away for weeks now. Would she be mad at him, when he returned? Or worse, would she be distrustful again?

Jon shook the thought out of his head, although he couldn't really chase the sense of worry he felt out of his heart. He had to go back to her soon, he wanted to see her again more than anything else, but alas, his mission was far from being accomplished.

His sister's voice broke his train of thoughts. “Jon, are you even listening to me?”

Jon blinked, mindlessly scratching his scars from over his leathers. “I'm sorry, Sansa, I'm just... I'm just thinking.”

“Brooding, more so,” she chided him, despite the faint upturn of her lips. “Some things never change, I see.”

He sighed, letting out a tired exhale before she started speaking again, this time in a more serious tone. "I spoke with Baelish."

Jon nodded, looking at her pointedly so that she would continue. He had already expressed his thoughts on Littlefinger in the past days.

“He can help us. He's Lord of the Vale, now, and the Knights of the Vale could make the difference in this fight.”

Jon bit his lip, mulling over it. The offer sounded enticing enough, the possibility to beat the Boltons without having to lose too many men on their side... “He will want something in return,” he pointed out.

“I'm well aware of that,” Sansa sighed. “I know him probably better than he even realizes. I can... I can handle him.”

“Can you, Sansa? That one is a dangerous man. Father never trusted him, remember?”

“I do,” she nodded. “But what else can we do? You keep saying we'll win this fight, that you have some sort of... _secret weapon_ to wield, but so far I've only seen a small, scrambled and divided army on our side."

“I've never lied to you.”

“But you will not tell me the truth either,” she bit out.

Jon sighed, weighed down by all of his battling thoughts. Would she believe the tale? Would she call him a madman, would she accuse him of playing with fire? Or would she understand?

 _I need to protect Dany_ , a voice in his head kept on screaming, then again, didn't Sansa deserve to know?

He needed an ally, he needed her to trust him. He could trust her, couldn't he?

“Remember Old Nan's story? The one about the Witch's Bridge?”

“I do,” she smiled fondly. "Once upon a time, a cruel and vain King ordered a man to build a bridge so masterfully crafted that the reflection of its arch in the water would form a perfect circle. The King gave him a moon turn to finish the bridge lest he took his daughters away, and the poor man started to work on it, but soon realized there wasn't nearly enough time to build such a bridge as the King wanted it.” Sansa seemed to lose herself in the memory, staring at the hearth as she recalled Old Nan's words.

“A witch came to him, promising her help,” she continued. “She would build the bridge for him in a night, as perfect as the King wanted it, but she would take for herself the first soul who crossed it once finished. The man accepted her offer, and true enough, in a night the bridge was complete, and it was everything the King commanded. But when it came time for her payment, the man called a dog upon the bridge, and the witch being bound by her promise, she could only accept her defeat. In a rage, she threw herself in the river from that same bridge, which is now named after her.”

Sansa blinked at him, brows furrowing in question. “What could any of this have to do with the Boltons, though?”

“I met one when I was in the Neck. A witch, I mean. She... she promised to help us.”

“You got a witch to promise you her help?” Sansa's eyes widened in surprise, her mouth hanging agape. “Jon, that's... how did you do it?”

“We became friends, I guess.” He realized he was fidgeting, squirming under Sansa's searching gaze. Uncertainty gnawed at him, wondering if he took the right decision by revealing Dany's existence to her, but he couldn't keep avoiding Sansa's queries forever.

“ _Friends?_ With a witch? Just like that?” She let out an incredulous scoff. “They're dangerous, Jon, what if-”

“She has a good heart, Sansa, and I trust her,” he snapped his head up, defensive. “I promised her my help and she did the same.”

“Your help? With what?”

Jon shook his head slowly. “That's her story to tell, not mine.”

Sansa blinked, seemingly taking in all of this new information, then she slumped her shoulders forward, sighing in a very unladylike manner, clamping her hands together. “Alright, we have a witch on our side. Where is she now?”

“Hidden. She will come when it's time.”

“You won't say where? Not even to me?”

Jon merely made a face, begging her not to press any further. He already felt guilt trickling down his throat, although Dany would probably laugh at him. _I can defend myself, you fool,_ the memory of her voice resonated in his ears.

Sansa just sighed dejectedly. “Still, Ramsay has a whole army, much bigger than ours. Will the help of a witch be enough to defeat him, you think?”

“I've witnessed what she can do, Sansa.”

She merely nodded, disbelief still painted on her face.

* * *

Dany had searched her great-uncle's diaries far and wide, and although they were full of references to dragons and dragonlore, there didn't seem to be anything that could help her in her peculiar situation.

Still, the lonely young girl relished in those pages, absorbing every word that had been penned by her long-lost relative and trying to imagine his voice as she read. In her mind, it was sweet and low, gentle and calming, and the thought made her smile and cry in turns.

 _I must be going mad_ , she mused, as she wiped the tears from her eyes for the umpteenth time.

Despite her family's journals and letters, the weight of her loneliness grew heavier with each passing day. She knew she was going to miss Jon while he was away, but she had never really realized how much she had grown used to his comforting presence, and now she felt helpless and – if she was to be honest with herself – terribly bored.

She tried to be as inconspicuous a presence as she could during the daytime, hiding in the clouds and flying over desert, snowy lands with no villages in sight. She had found a cave one rainy day, hidden far and high on some unnamed craggy mountain bluff. It was big enough for her to hide while waiting for the weather to change as she munched the roasted game she had hunted.

The North had a kind of raw beauty that she had never witnessed before, all harsh rocks and imposing trees gentled only by the neverending coat of snow that covered everything in sight. Dany took her time exploring it, flying carefully hidden in the omnipresent clouds, trying not to attract too much attention on herself.

Somebody will probably notice her presence anyway, she mused, but she hoped they wouldn't be able to track her back to Queensgate. One night, the rising anxiety demanding she take action in some way prompted her to perform a protective spell on the castle. She hoped Jon could manage his way around her charms as he did back in the clearing, although the reason why he could do that still eluded her comprehension.

As the days passed, her metamorphosis was becoming increasingly more painful. Dany didn't know why that was happening, it could be because of the cold, but she had the nagging suspicion that her growing melancholy didn't help matters in any way.

She won't break, though. She was a dragon, and she would bear her curse with her chin held high.

* * *

Sansa stared down at the map of the North spread open on the wooden table at the center of the room, rocks and wooden figurines littering it, trying to figure out the logistics of the impending battle.

The Wildlings had accepted to fight for them, some out of gratitude for Jon saving them, others because they genuinely believed him to be a god, which made her brother visibly uncomfortable. Despite it all, the numbers weren't on their side. The Boltons' army easily doubled their own hodgepodge one. Sansa kept glancing at the stern line of Jon's mouth, trying to decipher his thoughts.

Davos clicked his tongue at her side, gesturing at a big carved figurine at the center of their formation. “That will give us some advantage, yes?”

"A giant can take down many men," the imposing red-haired wildling hummed, leaning on his axe with a confident expression that didn't ease the turmoil in Sansa's heart. "But he's not invulnerable. You should have seen them years ago, the mighty army they made before so many were taken out. Fierce warriors! I killed one meself, carved his-"

“ _Tormund.”_ Jon cast him a warning glance, one that looked intimidating, but the big man simply laughed it off.

“Focus on the plan, you lot,” her brother sighed, restlessly shifting from one foot to another.

“How are we supposed to overcome such great numbers?” Davos asked. “We don't have a whole army of giants, only one of them. He will not be enough to take the Boltons out.”

“We're not basing our victory solely on Wun Wun.”

"On what, then, Jon?" Sansa scoffed, exasperated. "You keep saying you have everything under control, but won't tell us _how_.”

“As I told you, Sansa, the only thing we need to do is to lure them out, to get Ramsay out of the castle.” He sighed, the same impatience she felt mirrored in his expression. “As long as he hides in Winterfell we cannot defeat him. We lure him out and the help we need will come, that much I promise you. We also have to make sure that Rickon is away from him or his men, and not on the field of battle with them. If he's in the castle, we can free him when we take it back, but we have to make sure he won't be harmed if we storm the keep.”

“We won't need to lure Ramsay out. He will be there to taunt us, he will want to look us in the face, to be the one to torture us. I know him, I'm the only one here that really knows him!” she raised her voice. “Rickon is _gone_ , Jon, he's already gone. Ramsay won't let him live, that much I can assure you. We can't have our little brother back,” her voice wavered. “But our _home_ , that we can take back. There is still time to accept Baelish's help, Jon. We can handle whatever he wants from us afterwards, but we need his help now!”

"We don't," he insisted. "I'm asking you to trust me on this, Sansa. I can't tell you yet, but I can promise that I'm no liar and that we will have the help we need to defeat that monster." Jon cut her a glance that almost made her freeze on the spot, before slowly stating, "And we will save our brother. We have to. I'm not going to watch him die like the rest of our family."

Sansa's nostrils flared in irritation, the loud huff resounding in the room as everyone watched at the tense exchange.

"Leave, everyone," Jon commanded, and they were left alone in the room, the tension easing slightly as he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sansa, I know that I'm asking a lot of your trust and that you don't really know me well enough to grant it carelessly," he began, stopping her with a raised hand when she opened her mouth to confute.

“Please, sister,” he pleaded at her, his voice so tired that she couldn't reply, torn in between pity and exasperation at his secrecy.

When he walked off, clasping his cloak around his shoulders, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“I have to go. I'll come back when it's time,” he explained, kissing her forehead before exiting the door. Sansa followed him all the way to the courtyard, but could only look on as he hastily saddled a horse and disappeared past the gate, his last reassurances fading in the thin mist of the cold morning air.

* * *

When he finally came back to her, with plans for battle and the promise of some semblance of an army and an overwhelming desire to see her again, Jon found that she was still away, flying somewhere. While he waited, he chopped some wood and stacked it beside the hearth, and prepared supper with the provisions he had brought.

Her roars broke into the air as the sun went down, and he hurried outside to greet her, watching her land messily from the sky into the ruined courtyard, his heart leaping in his throat.

Jon shrugged off his cloak and marched towards her, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed her body contorting in agony considerably more than what he was used to witnessing.

Her cries of pain made his heart clench, but he had to take a step back to avoid the flames that inadvertently poured from her mouth.

When it was finally safe to approach, her body shrinking and her voice becoming human again, he hastily went towards her with his cloak at the ready, trying to cover her still convulsing form. It was in that moment, as her whimpers of pain slowly calmed, that he noticed something he never saw before.

“You're back,” she softly murmured, her voice broken and fatigued.

His gaze fell on her breasts before she could cover herself, and he had to swallow in surprise, his eyes widening. “Dany... What's- what's that?”

There was a scar over her heart, in the same spot he bore his own, a few black-red scales that stubbornly clung to her skin. "Why aren't they retracting?" he asked, worry flooding him.

“They never do,” she murmured, her gaze cast on the ground.

Her eyes were glassy, her hands clenching over the scales as if to hide them, or to tear them away.

Jon went silent as he approached her to wrap her up in his cloak, rubbing her back and shoulders through the material to warm her up. Dany whimpered, tears springing free. She groaned in displeasure, and turned her face away from him, hastily wiping them away.

“Dany,” he called, his voice soft. “It's alright. Let's warm you up.” He gently took her hands in his own, guiding her inside her tower. _She's so cold. She needs the fire_.

Jon guided her until they were standing in front of the lit hearth in her room. When he turned to look at her again, her cheeks were covered in tears. He hugged her lightly, hoping that it would help warm her up sooner.

“It's not alright. It will never be,” she sobbed against his chest. “I will be stuck with this curse forever, and sooner or later even you will get tired of me, and I will be alone as I was before.”

Jon tightened his grasp around her shivering form, hating that she would ever think that. “That's not going to happen. I could barely endure leaving you alone when I had to, you know? Not a day went by that I didn't miss you,” he whispered, but she shook her head in denial, her face contorted with grief.

“I was so stupid, Jon,” she sobbed, struggling to wipe the tears away from her face. “I should never have done it. Mama Ame would be so mad at me, if only she knew...” Another loud sob escaped from her lips.

Jon kept rubbing her back, feeling her body slowly relax in his arms.

“What happened?” he asked softly, so softly he wondered if she heard him, for a moment, until she forcibly swallowed.

"There were... books. Mama Ame had them in the bottom of a trunk, almost like she wanted to hide them. They spoke of advanced spells, the kind of which she never taught me," she sniffed, regaining a bit of her composure, even as her eyes refused to meet his. "I was curious, and I read them. And they-" Dany choked, gulping. "There was promise, Jon, such a marvellous promise to me, stupid girl that I was. Mama Ame always warned me against such dark magic, and I was so stupid...”

"Dark magic?" Jon felt dread rising in his chest, a sense of foreboding that made him hug her tighter, to shield her from the weight of her own revelation, but she tore away from him, almost hiding in his cloak.

“Aye,” she weakly nodded. “I knew it would be a difficult spell... even dangerous. But I wanted to see her, it said that it could open the gates of the otherworld to gifted witches, and Mama Ame always told me I had greater powers than any other witch she ever met- it was so stupid, this is the curse of my arrogance!”

“To see her? Mama Ame?”

“No- oh, I missed her every day since the day she died, but no... I promised to let her rest. But my mother by blood... I was consumed by the thought of her! It was such a stupid hope, I know.” Dany's eyes went glassy, her lips trembling with the emotions that she was struggling to contain. Her hand squeezed at her chest, right where the scar was. “I never made it to the otherworld.”

She finally looked at him then, her eyes red, pleading for his understanding.

"I just- I just wanted to meet my mother," she sobbed, tears flowing on her cheeks.

Jon gulped, feeling his blood pulse violently in his veins at the sight of the trembling woman in front of him, as the true weight of her loneliness dawned on him, of the unfairness of it all. He closed his eyes, throat suddenly dry, his scarred hand clenching and unclenching uncontrollably. The darkness threatened to swallow him whole, and he had to look at her again to steady himself.

"I've been there," he finally confessed, Dany snapped her eyes open in confusion, her mouth parting in a silent gasp as she grasped the true meaning of his muttered words. "There's nothing there, Dany. Only the darkness," he choked out, his voice breaking.

He could see Dany's heart break as the harsh truth sank in, the despair in her violet orbs a sharp knife that seemed to cut the life out of him yet again.

Jon moved before he could realize what he was doing, engulfing her tiny form in his arms and squeezing it as if his life depended on it, and cried with her. This exiled Princess, gifted with wondrous powers and cursed with neverending loneliness, far before she ever morphed into her dragon form. This beautiful, kind, amazing woman that deserved better, and only had him, sad bastard that he was, whom she could share her grief with.

How long they stayed like that, he didn't know. At some point, they had ended up slumped on the floor, a tangle of limbs and cloaks and wracking sobs.

If only his love could be water, surrounding her in its formless warmth, letting heat seep into her every crevice until she wouldn't feel lonely anymore. He wished he could take all of her pain, absorbing it in himself to let her be free and careless and bright. _I can take it_ , he thought. _I can take it all._

"No," she croaked from the nape of his neck, voice high-pitched and hoarse. "You don't deserve it any more than I do." Her hands were grasping at his cloak like a lifeline. He hadn't realized he had talked aloud. "You deserve to be happy, too. To be loved," she sobbed. "There's so much to love in you, Jon-"

He groaned, bidding farewell to his last ounce of restraint. His mouth sought the softness of her lips, and he drank from them like he was a starved man at a feast. She gasped in surprise, but she let his lips bruise hers and whimpered delightfully when his tongue sought entrance in her mouth, the taste sweeter than he ever dreamt.

“I love you,” he whispered against her neck, her lips, her ear. “Gods help me, I love you.”

Dany almost stilled, retracting from his touch for the briefest moment, but then her hands dipped in his curls and gave a possessive tug that made him groan against her lips. Her taste was intoxicating, the sweet drag of her tongue against his own at times bold and shy. He kissed her breathless, cleaning away the saltiness of her tears from her skin.

She pulled him closer, her hands grasping at his jerkin until there wasn't any more space left in between them. They slid further down to the ground, his body hovering over hers, their mouths barely parting as they kissed away the pain.

Dany was mewling his name in his mouth like a litany, like he had dreamt she would. He needed to look at her, to make sure this was real, and when he did he was met by the sight of her flushed and rumpled on the carpet, panting and looking at him with wide eyes.

"Jon, please..." She tugged at him, almost pleading his body flush to her again. The cloak that was barely covering her opened, and she blushed but didn't move to hide herself from his gaze.

Jon had taken glimpses at her naked form already, every time she was forced bare by those terrible transformations, but this... this was different. This time she wanted him to watch her, and her body spoke of desire, not pain, shifting slightly under him in a maddening invitation. She was beautiful, and even if he had always known it, the sight of it still managed to knock the breath out of his lungs.

“Dany-”

“Please.”

He would give her anything, that he knew since a long time ago, and so he didn't deny her proof of his love. Devoting the press of his lips to kiss every inch of her lovely skin, from the dip of her collarbone to the roundness of her breasts, to the stony black scales that covered her heart, to the plane of her belly, and when she was writhing under him, breathless and flushed, he kissed her between her thighs.

She almost jerked at the contact of his tongue with her hot core, a gasp that turned into a moan as he ravished her. Her body trembled under his grasp until her cries filled the room, the sweet taste of her release hitting his tongue.

Dany tugged at his clothes, watching him with blown pupils and parted lips. He hesitated, still wary of the ugly scars that covered his chest, that he never let anyone else see, but... this was Dany, _his_ Dany, and she had bared all of herself to him, her own scars, her own sorrow. He could do the same, let her see his own curses, the signs on his body as well as those on his soul.

“Dany...” he gulped, fisting the hem of his own tunic.

“I want to see,” she pleaded, her voice a whisper, but it steeled him all the same even as what she said surprised him. How foolish he had been, thinking he could hide from her, but her eyes rarely missed anything, and she had understood well enough what he had meant when he said he had been on the other side.

Taking a deep breath, he tore off the linen tunic, closing his eyes against the sight of his own body. Soft, warm fingertips slowly caressed the puckered skin where it had been hastily sewn together, tracing the rigged edges.

“What a pair we are, Jon Snow,” she murmured, making him look at her again.

Her eyes were soft, intent on his chest, full of understanding and, he was sure, the same love he felt for her. Jon inhaled deeply, chest heaving, feeling like he had to tell her what happened. She deserved the truth.

He was about to do just that when her fingers went to his lips, soft but firm. “Later, Jon.”

Dany's voice was shy, wavering a bit, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, but when her eyes met his, he found no uncertainty in them, only the same longing that he felt.

He would tell her everything, Jon didn't miss the gleam of curiosity in her eyes, but she was right. They had all night for that after they finally claimed each other.

Jon bent to kiss her, slowly, savouring the taste of her mouth. Their first kiss had been a frenzied mess, the need to finally feel each other and give in to their feelings too overwhelming to be resisted, but now he wanted to savour it, to make it last.

Dany sighed in his mouth, her hands snaking around his shoulders to bring him even closer to her, and whimpered when she felt his hard cock through the strained fabric of his breeches.

It almost made him stop, the sudden realization that she'd never been with a man before nearly throwing him into a panic. She tugged at his hair, though, deepening their kiss, snaking her tongue around his own. It was in her reassurance that he surrendered, letting out a pitiful groan. He loved her, he would never hurt her. He would make her happy.

He nuzzled her neck, peppering soft kisses and bites over her skin, before snaking his arms around her lithe body and rising, intent on carrying her to the bed. She yelped, giggling her shyness in the crook of his neck, her legs circling him so that she wouldn't fall.

As if he would ever let her go.

Jon lowered her on the bed, tearing away from her to unlace his breeches and toss them away, soon followed by his smallclothes.

Dany's violet gaze never left him, trailing shyly over his now naked body, and the hard cock that sprung forward. Her hand followed the same path when he reached her on the bed, trailing slowly down his chest and tentatively palming his erection with a look that was equal parts intrigue and arousal.

She urged him on again, tugging at his waist. He laughed against her mouth before kissing her deeply.

He kept whispering words of love as he slid inside her, slow and sweet, kissing her wherever he could reach. Her hands were all over him, tugging at his hair, scratching at his shoulders, at his arms, always beckoning him closer, so close, until everything was _her_ and his heart was so full of bliss in that moment, it was as if it had never known pain before.

"I'm not ever going to leave you. Never," he whispered, again and again, in between feverish kisses, until they slumped in each other's arms, sated and warm and loving. He held her close as they lied beside each other, staring into her eyes for a very long time, his knuckles absently stroking her bare back. She looked back at him, studying his face as a shy smile spread across hers.

He didn't dream about ghosts that night, but of her purple eyes glinting under the sunlight, her smile brighter than the stars, and she spun, claiming the day with her crystalline laugh.

When he awoke, she was sleeping still, curled against his side, her moonlight hair fanned on the sheets like silver silk, the sight so lovely it made his heart clench.

But it was time for war, not for love, and he had his duty.

He placed a light kiss on her temple, breathing in the scent of her so that he could remember it on the battlefield, and left.

* * *

When she awoke, she was alone.

Dany quickly dressed and stepped outside in the courtyard, waiting for the sunrise to come.

As she watched the stars slowly disappear, the faint light of dawn tinting the dark sky of a lighter shade on the far East, Dany found there wasn't doubt in her heart. Not fear, but a righteous thrill that ran along her spine, lightening her senses and bringing her a newfound clarity. This was right, she thought. This was what she was meant to do, where she was meant to be.

It was time for war, and she was ready to bring fire and blood to their enemies.

 


	8. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for graphic depictions of violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza.
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

 

THE FALL

 

Sansa stood tall atop her horse, glancing down at the battlefield from her vantage point up on the hill. A few guards surrounded her, the result of the compromise she and Jon had achieved in light of the battle, after she refused to be left behind at the camp. She wanted to be there, to witness whatever was going to happen, but Jon had insisted that she had some form of protection in case things took a bad turn. Sansa wasn't sure how to feel about it.

She was grateful for his brotherly concern, but when she looked down the hill, the thought that even a few men were spared from the battle on her behalf filled her with dread.

 _They're so many_ , she mused, worriedly biting her lip. _Too many_.

The Bolton forces were easily doubling the meager army she and Jon had managed to gather. Even their weapons looked mightier, as they lined ballistae on the sides, pointing them menacingly in the direction of the lone giant that graced their underwhelming army. Sansa swallowed down her growing apprehension, silently berating herself.

_I should have accepted Baelish's help or convinced Jon to wait for Lady Brienne to return._

Sansa had sent Brienne to Riverrun to ask for her uncle's help for the battle, but so far, she hadn't received any news of her sworn shield. She had wanted to wait, but Jon was having none of it. “The longer we wait, the longer Rickon will be in danger,” he had justified his impatience.

Vast grey clouds covered the sky, ominous and dense. They perfectly reflected the turmoil in Sansa's heart.

The sound of the wind-battered flayed man's banners greeted her as the cold breeze rushed over the impenetrable walls and towers of Winterfell that day. The barren landscape was dotted with burning stakes, actual flayed men tied to them as a horrible warning of what would happen to enemies at the hands of that monster. A terrifying promise that Sansa _knew_ Ramsay was capable to uphold.

Jon was riding along the frontline, apparently assessing their formation for the final time. He was garbed in boiled leather and chainmail, Longclaw straddled at his left side and a horn hanging from his right, hair held back in a bun.

A hush fell over the men. Her brother turned just in time to see Ramsay Bolton emerging from the cover of his own army. Even from this distance, she could see his characteristic smug grin plastered on his face.

Sansa _loathed_ the sight.

Rage and disgust washed over her in waves, a feeling of hatred she never thought she would be capable of. She wanted to wipe that blighted smirk from existence.

Her mare neighed, moving restlessly in place, probably reflecting her own tension.

And then, the bastard stepped forward, with her chained little brother in tow.

 _Rickon_. Her heart gave a painful lurch at the sight, for she knew that Ramsay was merely taunting them and that he would never let them have their brother back alive and whole.

But Jon didn't know Ramsay the way she did, and his plans all revolved around saving their brother's life. “We have to lure them out of Winterfell”, he had insisted as they planned the battle. “We have to get Rickon to safety. That's all we need to focus on, Sansa.”

She wasn't so sure the plan was as sound as he believed it was. He never mentioned the witch again, his face twisting every time she tried to ask more questions, and Sansa had even thought, for a moment, that he had lied about the help, but the tale was far too absurd to be made up.

She didn't know much about this unlikely alliance, her broody brother refusing to reveal more than what was strictly necessary while asking her to trust him in the meantime. _But how can I, if you don't talk to me?_

When they finally made it back to the camp they built a few miles north of Winterfell, some days past, to finalize their plans for the battle with how many banners they had managed to gather, Jon had seemed restless, and he had left as soon as he could, disappearing for days and only returning when it was time to get ready and face their enemy.

The bastard tugged at the chain, making Rickon stumble forward, and whispered something in his ear. Every muscle in her body tensed at the sight, and she could see that it affected Jon in the same way.

And then, the chain was unlocked, and Rickon started to run. Jon automatically moved towards him, his body tense and ready, and Sansa wondered what was going to happen until the bastard had a bow handed to him.

A sinking realization hit Sansa with a nauseating jolt. He was going to kill their little brother in front of their eyes, and there was nothing they could do to prevent it. Sansa's heart gave a squeeze in its sudden grief, her eyes closing briefly as she felt the annoying sting of tears behind them. She had come to terms long ago that he was lost, but the pain was none the less.

Jon ran too, urging his horse in a frenzied gallop towards their brother, leaving the protection of their army and falling right into the bastard's trap.

The first arrow missed, but Sansa was sure it was done on purpose, to taunt them, to make it hurt all the more when he would land the killing blow. Rickon ran faster than Sansa expected, but the field seemed to stretch endlessly in front of him, the distance that separated him from safety too vast, always too much.

The second arrow just barely missed, landing so close to his running figure that Sansa nearly cried out in terror.

It was when Rickon reached the half of the field, an equal distance separating him from his torturer and Jon, that her older brother lifted the horn he had hanging from his belt and brought it to his mouth. A deafening, long and desperate blare broke through the stillness of the battlefield, causing Ramsay's movements to briefly pause in surprise as he leisurely drew another arrow.

The bastard smirked, a mocking quirk of his brows, but the smug expression fell from his face not a moment later, for the sky answered to Jon's call. A rumble like thunder echoed from the grey clouds above, so great and ominous that everyone stilled in fear. Even Ramsay jerked, snapping his head upwards, mouth agape, making his third blow go awry, the arrow landing far away from its goal.

A deafening screech swallowed every other noise, and then a massive dark figure descended from those clouds. A winged beast of myth with scales as black as the midnight sky, a sight so incredible that Sansa had to wonder whether she was dreaming or going mad.

On both sides, everyone chaotically scampered around, either running away or directing their ridiculous weapons against the dragon, everyone but Ramsay, whose mouth was still agape, and Jon. Jon who caught Rickon in his arms. Jon who brought him to the safety of their side of the battlefield, and who directed Rickon towards her waiting form on the hill.

Jon who went back to the fray, yelling above the screeches of the beast. _“THE DRAGON FIGHTS FOR US! FOR WINTERFELL! WINTERFELL!”_

The men looked flabbergasted and confused, but then the Wildlings yelled back at Jon, breaking into a run as they charged into battle. “Don't let them flee!” her brother was now shouting.

The beast had merely swooped over the great field, its appearance enough to bring about a frenzied alarm among the opposition. It was now flying back, chasing the Boltons and opening its great big mouth, raging flames pouring out from behind rows of jagged, black sharp teeth. The soldiers that were caught were instantly incinerated, the flames leaving nothing but dust and ashes behind.

Sansa could only look on, mouth agape.

Jon had promised her that the battle would be easily won, that their small numbers shouldn't discourage her because he had some sort of secret weapon, the help of a powerful witch, he said. Sansa had believed him, but she surely wasn't expecting this, for the legendary tales she heard as a child to come to life in front of her very own eyes.

Was this a trick of the witch? A creature summoned by her, even an illusion of the eye? No, there wasn't anything false in the screams and the burning bodies on the ground.

But then, where was their unlikely ally hiding? Sansa glanced all around her, feeling anxious at the idea of being observed by such a powerful creature, but she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. She kept searching, her eyes roaming over their surroundings until the loud screech of the dragon and the ground shaking reclaimed all of her attention.

* * *

Excitement rushed through Dany's body, a tingling sensation that ran from the top of her head to the tip of her tail. She was flying high, disguised amidst the grey, cold clouds that promised rain to wash away the blood of the battlefield.

She could smell the armies even if she couldn't see them yet. She could tell that it was a great number of humans, the scent of their anxiety and their sweat, of their fear and fury wafting through the air. There was also the odour of burning flesh, which unsettled her. Jon had promised to call on her as soon as he got Rickon to safety, and surely she couldn't have missed his call, could she? Had the battle already begun?

Concerned, she flew as low as possible without disrupting her cover, until she could clearly sense his scent. An ominous silence surrounded the fields outside Winterfell, making the scales along her spine prickle with anticipation.

When she heard the call of the horn, Dany dove.

The sight will forever be impressed in her memory: the two armies were facing each other, the smell of charred flesh coming from flayed corpses burning on the Bolton's side, a terrible warning that made her stomach clench in rage.

 _I have a warning of my own_ , she thought as she roared, the tiny soldiers tearing away at the sight of her, breaking formation to run for their lives.

Her Jon was a speck of dark in the middle of the field, an auburn-haired boy running into his arms. _Rickon_. _We made it. His brother is safe._

Jon sent the boy to safety before unsheathing his sword, a look of such unaltered fury on his face that she almost gasped in surprise. Dany had never seen him like this, the image of the warrior she knew he was, but had never truly witnessed before.

"For Winterfell!" he shouted as he charged.

Dany flew in circles over the battlefield, spitting fire at those that she could recognise as enemy soldiers. The smell of death and cinder filled her nostrils, and although the dragon thrived in its sheer dominance, the girl in her was terrified.

She had never killed a man before, and here she was, laying death and destruction at her feet. Dany feared it, but when she glanced at her love on the field, looking back at her with what could only be pride, the apprehension dissipated. When she thought about all that he suffered at those treasonous hands... Rage boiled in her blood and poured from her mouth, and she did not regret it.

The soldiers that were brave enough not to desert were now aiming at her, their stupid arrows deflecting off her stony scales, merely tickling her.

The ballistae were more of a nuisance, some of the bolts were successful at lodging themselves in between her scales, one or two even managing to break her skin and draw blood: but it did not matter. She was a dragon, and her wounds would heal, but not before her Jon would be settled in his rightful home again.

She flew over in large circles, searching far and wide for who might be the infamous Ramsay Bolton, but not knowing what he looked like, it was difficult to spot him. The battle had somehow grown despite her presence, groups of soldiers trying to relentlessly kill each other, and she did not want to kill Jon's men by accident.

Dany tucked her wings back, quickly diving towards the ground before expanding them abruptly, stopping her descent, bringing her dangerously close to the battlefield. A risk she was willing to take to shift the ensuing battle in Jon's favour. She whirled back around, turning towards the direction of the castle, flying low when a sudden jolt of blinding pain struck her.

Dany let out a resounding, shrill cry as the ache spread from her chest throughout her body, far worse than any of the previous blows.

She jerked in the air, the pain too much to keep flying, to keep looking. Her body crashed on the ground, the impact so violent that the earth buckled beneath her.

It felt like she was dying, it hurt like the wretched day in which she gained her scar.

The same scar that was now bleeding black blood, rivulets of it running down her chest, covering her scales. Staining the ground beneath her, draining the life out of her as everything faded to black.

* * *

Jon jumped down from his horse, slashing his way through the enemy soldiers. He had always fought best on foot, not atop a horse, and the black beast immediately scurried away from the battle, frantically searching for safety.

The Bolton's numbers were thinning inexorably, and it was clear that the Stark side now held the upper hand, but the fight was far from over.

Hit, parry, deflect, pivot, thrust, withdraw and repeat. Jon engaged with the next Bolton soldier, feeling the vibrations of the blows running along his arms.

Blood was pumping in his veins, his heart beating so fast he could almost hear it in his ears, despite the terrible noise that surrounded him. Screams and agonizing shouts, the clanging clash of steel against steel, the low whistle of arrows piercing the air, horses neighing, bucking their riders into the air, and above them all, the thunderous clap of great leathery wings and those growls that he had once feared.

Jon pivoted on himself, parrying a sudden blow and fighting the enemy soldier back with all of his strength, before plunging Longclaw deep into his guts. He groaned as he wrenched his sword, freeing it only to turn again and keep fighting; blood, grime and remnants of human viscera covering him, the repugnant smell of war filling his nostrils.

A hot gust of wind washed over his back, carrying the powerful heat of Dany's breath as she incinerated their enemies. Never a sight had filled him with more hope and rightful rage, the sheer terror in that monster's eyes at the dragon's descent, as Ramsay realized it was over.

The monster had disappeared in the fray, probably seeking refuge in the castle, towards which Jon was now slaying his way, Valyrian steel cutting into the enemies' flesh like butter.

A warning growl, the whistle of more arrows, the duller noise of the heavier ballistae. The high-pitched screech that pierced the air was nothing like he ever heard before, and it made the blood freeze in his veins. Jon turned, the hand that was holding Longclaw going clammy with cold sweat, only to see Dany falling to the ground.

She had numerous bolts ledged all over her body, but she had seemed unfazed by them only moments before. And then, Jon saw the stream of black blood that poured from the one jutting from her heart.

He wanted to scream, but the sound died in his throat as her body crashed, making the ground tremble beneath his feet. For a moment he just stood still on his spot, gaping at the sight, trying to fathom what was happening, but then Dany let out such a pitiful growl that his legs moved of their own accord, bringing him to where she was.

Her name was a breathless whisper when he hastily stopped beside her, his hands probing around to search for the wound. Dany was panting, big gusts of breath that were still hot as a furnace, but that were growing weaker by the moment.

Thick, black blood was pouring from the gash, the colour almost vanishing on her midnight scales. When he placed a hand on her chest, it came away tainted with her life, and he had to choke the desperate sob that rose in his throat.

Jon knew death, he had _longed_ to crawl back into its cold embrace not long ago, disappearing into the void. The Wall and the betrayal of his own men had robbed him of the will to live, but Dany had nurtured it back to life, tending to it with her sweet smile and bright eyes.

And now... _gods_. He couldn't imagine having to lose her. Frantically, he pushed both hands on her wound to try and stop the blood flow, but the cut was too big and the bolt lodged too deep. Her groans soon muted, her red eyes shutting.

The noises of war and destruction became a low, dull whiz in his ears, his vision spinning in the sudden rush of boiling blood that went to his head.

Jon knew death, and he would be it.

An eerie silence had fallen over the battlefield, the Boltons defeated. That cowardly monster probably retreated into the safety of the castle, the men that had survived were now watching him with wonder and fear. Tormund was the only one that dared to come close, a somber expression that Jon had never seen on his face before.

His own voice was hoarse and low when he finally spoke, a dangerous edge that just hinted at the sheer violence he was ready to unleash upon his enemies, her murderers. “Where is he?”

“Inside,” Tormund nodded in the direction of the castle, grasping his shoulder and hoisting him up. “Let's go break some bones, crow.”

 _Gladly_.

His vision was tinted red as he marched towards the keep, his right hand clenching and unclenching restlessly. _Death, you know death, death is what you are._

_Death is what you will bring to him._

Wun Wun was knocking the gate down when Jon reached it, the wood splintering under the force of the giant's blows. When he finally tore it from its hinges, there was nothing left to delay Ramsay Bolton from rotting in all seven hells.

The fight was done and over, but still, the monster was waiting for them in the courtyard, his bow trained on Jon, that disgusting smirk back on his face, merely a handful of soldiers left to surround him. "Shall we settle this the old way, bastard? You against me."

Jon ducked, narrowly avoiding the arrow meant for his head. Picking up a discarded shield, he charged onto Ramsay before he had the time to let loose another arrow. Jon knocked him down with a swift thrust of the shield to his chest, stunning him onto the ground. He pounced on him like a wolf on its prey, his fury growing with every blow he landed on his face, gradually transforming that smug grin into a bloody pulp.

For Winterfell, he broke his nose.

For Sansa, he beat his eye black.

For Rickon, he ruptured his lip.

For Dany-

_Dany._

For her, he’d take everything Ramsay had left to give. Life seeped out of the monster's body with every blow Jon landed, but still, it wasn't enough to repay for Dany's blood staining the battered field outside the gates of his very home. It wasn't enough to repay for the coldness that now emanated from her skin, where fire used to reside.

Jon only stopped when he realized that his sister and brother were in the courtyard. Sansa was staring at her torturer's corpse while Rickon clutched at her skirts, eyes wide and void. The monster was dead, his features nearly wiped away by the violence of Jon's fists.

His sister's expression was undecipherable.

“Make of his body what you will,” he growled, lifting himself up before staggering away, past the gate and into the battlefield again, the blood in his veins pumping so loudly it made him deaf to every other sound.

Dany's body was still in the middle of the field, black and still and choking the very strength out of him. Nobody had dared come close to her, not even in death, but he wanted to stay with her for a bit longer until reality would demand otherwise.

He kneeled beside her in the grass, his trembling hands touching her snout. She was breathing still, the warm puffs of air far less hot than what they usually were, so much that he could rest his head against her snout without scorching his skin.

She couldn't die, leaving him alone, not after everything they had shared.

She could not sacrifice herself for him.

Her body was getting colder, the blood seeping from her wound soaking his clothes. Jon stroked her scales, begging her to come back to him, again and again, until she stopped moving entirely, the scales cold as stone, the glow of fire gone from her slumped mouth.

He would need to burn her body, to cover her in flowers and to make sure she wouldn't be forgotten. _Later_ , he thought. For now, he allowed himself to cry, a wave of mad grief rushing him, causing him to tightly clutch in his arms the cool scales at her neck, mourning.

* * *

It was the most pitiful sight she ever witnessed. Sansa had never seen her brother behave like that, not even when they were children.

Jon had always been a sullen boy, mastering the art of concealing his feelings at a very young age. When she was a child, she had believed him not to have a heart due to the taint in his blood, but now she knew he was merely trying to disappear from her mother's reproaching gaze.

He had been more open about his emotions in these past few weeks than ever before, but still, there was a part of him that wanted to hide.

But now... He cried like a desperate man, fearlessly grasping the dead dragon's body.

The sight would have tugged at anyone's heart, the misery he felt so clear it was impossible not to share it, but still, Sansa was baffled.

How did Jon end up in control of a dragon? They had been extinct for such a long time, everyone knew, but she was witnessing it with her very own eyes. And why did he mourn it so? Sansa imagined that the dragonlords of old had a bond with their mounts, much like she had with Lady before she was condemned to death, all those years ago. She had grieved then, too, but her desperation never came close to the agonizing sobs that were now spasming through Jon's body.

Sansa observed him for a long while, feeling the tension slowly easing off of her now that the bastard was unable to ever hurt her again, his body having been fed to his own hounds under her command. She felt tired, incredibly tired, a strange bout of sadness and relief taking hold of her now that the battle was over.

Although still and slumped on the ground, the dragon made for an imposing and fearsome sight. Sansa felt shivers dance down her spine as she observed those horrible horns and claws, Rickon clutching tightly to her. He was shivering, too.

“Are you alright, Rickon?” she asked softly, stroking his hair.

“I- I don't know,” he murmured back.

Sansa cupped his face, still disbelieving that he was alive and whole in her arms. “Let's find someone to take a look at you, shall we?”

“I'm not wounded.”

“Still, I just want to make sure that you're safe,” she insisted.

“Will Jon be alright?” Rickon asked, glancing worriedly in his direction. She could see that Ser Davos was slowly approaching her brother on the field.

“I hope so,” she murmured. “Come, let's find something to eat. You must be hungry.”

Rickon followed her silently, his gaze cast on the ground. She stayed with him as he ate and kept him company until he fell asleep, trying to soothe him until his eyes fell closed. He was still shocked, that much was clear, looking unsteady and wary. Talking with him was difficult, trying to rebuild the bond that had been torn by the many years spent apart, but she had faith that time would heal his wounds.

About her own, she wasn't so sure.

The sky was darkening by the time she stepped out again, walking purposefully outside the gate and towards Jon. He was still there, his red, puffy eyes now dry and staring into the void, his back against the dragon's flank.

“I'm not ready to leave,” he croaked when she approached, his voice hoarse.

“I'm not asking you to,” she softly provided. “Although we will need to burn it, at some point.”

“Her. We will need to burn her. Her name was Dany and she didn't deserve to die like this.”

Sansa furrowed her brows in surprise but didn't say anything. Jon kept staring at the void, looking broken and frail and nothing like himself.

"I can oversee the preparation of the pyres if you wish," she broke the silence after a long, uncomfortable pause, during which Jon didn't move in the slightest.

“Thank you,” he muttered, and she left to order the wood gathered, and the dead soldiers collected from the ground.

* * *

He should be inside, celebrating their victory and hugging the brother he thought lost, but he couldn't make himself move from Dany's body, the scales cold as stone instead of reverberating their usual warmth.

Jon had no more tears to cry.

He felt rage now, consuming every bit of his body, a low, dangerous thrumming that made his blood pulse uncomfortably strong inside his veins.

The sun lowered on the horizon, leaving him to stare blankly at the sunset. He wondered if he would see her face one more time, if her still body would shrink and morph, revealing her true form for the last time. He asked himself if he was ready for such a possibility.

But alas, as the darkness came, Dany's body didn't change.

He would never see the violet of her eyes again, and for that, he screamed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides*


	9. A Mother's Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate about Daenerys' death, Jon finds solace into Sansa's arms. Their bond grows deeper, until the heartbroken man realizes that there might be more than brotherly affecti- I'M JOKING I'M JUST JOKING TAKE DOWN THOSE PITCHFORKS ALREADY.
> 
> *serious mode on*
> 
> Time to mend some broken hearts, folks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza (damn, she outdid herself with this one!)
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

 

A MOTHER'S HEART

 

Her laughter was the most beautiful sound that Jon had ever heard.

The warm spring sun was kissing her pale skin, making her silver hair gleam with golden hues and the purple of her eyes appear more vivid than ever. There were flowers braided in her hair, roses as blue as her dress, the silken skirts billowing in the gentle breeze. She laughed, high and bright and beautiful, and ran away from him, occasionally spinning around to throw him a blinding smile.

Dany. _His_ Dany.

She was even more beautiful in the daylight, careless and lovely and finally free.

He chased after her on the grass, after the smell of the roses, after her smile and those lips that he yearned to feel against his own, but he could never reach her.

She ran, and ran, and ran. "Come, Jon," she called, but the distance grew until he couldn't see her anymore.

"Dany!" he called, frantically searching around for a glimpse of her lithe figure. "Dany!" he shouted, but she never answered.

He was jolted awake by a hand on his shoulder.

Startled, his hand automatically flew to the pommel of his sword but stopped short when he realized it was only Sansa, looking down at him with concern. She was holding his cloak in her arms. Ser Davos was standing a few steps behind her, a compassionate gleam in his eyes, although he wore a look of confusion as well.

"Jon," she called, softly, offering him the furry garment. "Have you been here all night?"

He blinked, dazed, only then realizing it was morning already, and that he had indeed spent the night curled beside Dany's lifeless body.

"It's time we build the pyre," Sansa explained, talking to him like he was some wounded animal she was scared could bolt away at any moment.

"Alright," he weakly nodded instead, slowly standing up. His whole body ached after a night spent outside, but he didn't regret it. He couldn't leave her alone, had promised never to. "Can you... give me a moment?"

"Of course," Sansa nodded before she walked away, Ser Davos in tow. Already, people were swarming around in what had been the battlefield of the day before, carrying stacks of wood and dried grass.

Jon turned towards Dany, his throat going dry at the sight. Her massive body looked like cold stone carved in the shape of a dragon, her mouth slack and contorted in the fall, limbs arranged unnaturally under her own weight. That thick black blood had dried on the scales of her chest, glimmering with scarlet hues under the morning sun.

He rested his forehead against her snout, closing his eyes. A hand came up to stroke her scales as he begged her forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, Dany, I'm so sorry," he breathed. "I should have protected you, I should have-" His words were interrupted by the prickle of tears, and he had to swallow to regain his composure. "I love you," he choked out after a moment. "I love you. I'm sorry."

He placed a light kiss on her snout, ignoring the dumbfounded glances from the people all around them, and stepped back to watch as they built the wooden structure around her body, and brought the dead soldiers over as well.

It seemed forever before the pyre was ready. Ser Davos handed him a lit torch, nodding in encouragement.

Jon stepped forward, lowering the torch so that the dried grass would catch fire, and when the pyre was lit, he retreated again, standing still, silently watching as the flames devoured the love of his life.

* * *

The immense, silent darkness stretched all around her, the endless void absorbing every sound. Her steps felt light as air, strangely weightless, giving her the impression she was walking on the surface of water instead of solid ground.

Dany supposed she should be scared of the nothingness that surrounded her, but she felt strangely calm instead, walking straight ahead with soft strides. There was purpose in her movements, like she was headed towards a precise destination, although she didn't know what it could be.

Her scar was throbbing, but it didn't hurt, and the pulsation lessened with every step she took until it disappeared completely.

She walked for what felt like ages, never tiring, never doubting her path.

The liquid sensation under her naked feet soon turned into smooth stone littered with moss. Unfazed, she kept walking until the rocks were all around her as well and she realized she was inside a cave where the slow trickling of water could be distantly heard.

Dany kept on walking until she came to what looked like a dead end, great stony walls surrounding her on all sides except for the one she came. In front of her, a stream gurgled from underneath the boulders and expanded further into the cave, the water glowing with a faint light, casting a shine on the glittering rocks all around. A small wooden boat was tied close to the shore, big enough to carry only one person.

She knew at once that she was meant to climb inside it and follow the stream, so she did.

The boat gently carried her further into the cave. Dany marvelled at the beauty of her surroundings: the cracks in the stone revealed the glitter of precious crystals, moonstone, amethyst and obsidian. Huge stalactites jutted down from the roof, some of them coming so low she could easily touch them if she reached out her hand. The smooth surface left a cool sheen of mist on her fingers that she brought to her lips in childlike wonder.

Daenerys never asked herself where she was headed and why she was here. The calmness she felt was an encompassing sensation, and so she trusted the water to guide her, keeping her grip on the edge of the boat relaxed, accepting her journey as it happened.

Eventually, the stream came to an end, the water disappearing underground in between the rocks. Dany could see the exit to the cave in the distance, the night sky shimmering full of stars just behind it. The boat gently bumped against the shore, sending ripples throughout the surface of the luminous water. Dany stepped out of it and walked towards the exit, her feet soon finding soft, green grass.

As she stepped right outside the cave, she realized that the path ended right there. There was barely a patch of luscious grass that extended outside the rocky cave, plunging directly into the night sky, like it was suspended over the infinity. Dany drew in a deep breath, amazed at the sight of the luminous stars, at the streaks of purple and blue and white that painted the vast black canvas with their light. She could see orbs of different colours suspended in the sky, much bigger than the stars themselves. One was red, another, green and blue in great patches, another was massive and rust-coloured, surrounded by beautiful rings of a slightly lighter shade.

For a brief moment, as she stared at the totality of things, she could see it as a whole: the past, the present, even the future, places she'd never been to, the lives of people she'd never met. The realization hit her with the force of a blow, making her gasp, her knees going weak. Her mind struggled to take in the enormity of what was offered.

Not a moment went by that the fleeting sensation passed, and she forgot what she learned, but the feeling lingered, filling her with awe and wonder.

The magnificent sight had moved her to tears, somehow aware that she was being granted a privilege above humans, that she was standing at the very edge of knowledge.

It was in that moment, as she blinked away the tears from her eyes, that she felt a presence behind her.

Dany turned, finding herself face to face with her own reflection. Her own purple eyes were looking at her, unshed tears making them look glassy, her own silver hair trailed behind her back, her own mouth smiled at her softly, so softly, but she noticed that this reflection looked older. There were fine lines around her mouth and eyes, an air of maturity about her face.

For a fleeting moment, Daenerys wondered if she was seeing her future, or the picture of what it would have been if she hadn't fallen, but then the reflection spoke, stepping closer to her.

"My daughter..."

"Mama Rhaella?" Dany sobbed, a hand flying to cover her mouth in surprise as tears finally sprung free, the mother she had always wanted to meet engulfing her in a warm embrace, stroking her hair tenderly.

 _The spell_ , she realized. _It took moons and moons, but the spell finally worked._

"Yes, Daenerys," her mother spoke. "Oh, but look at you. You're so beautiful, my dear daughter," she smiled as she cupped her face in her hands.

"Mama, I missed you so much. I always missed you," Dany cried, clutching at her chest, all control forgotten as she whimpered, inhaling the sweet smell of her skin. Rhaella kept on stroking her hair, squeezing her tightly against her, and Dany noticed that she was crying, too.

"I know, my love, I know. I've always watched you," she sniffed. "I'm sorry that I couldn't be there for you. I'm sorry that I couldn't save you. I'm so grateful the witch raised you as her own when I could not."

For a long time, they stayed there, hugging and crying and relishing in each other's presence, the few words that were exchanged full of love and longing.

"Where are we, mother?" Daenerys finally asked when she managed to tame her tears.

"At the edge of the Whole, my dear Daenerys. Everything can be seen from here, but it takes time to learn how to _look_ ," Rhaella explained.

"You were watching me?" Daenerys asked, her sobs returning.

"Of course, my love," her mother smiled, drawing her back into a hug. "How couldn't I? You were always so loved, Daenerys, always. I'm sorry that you had to feel so lonely."

Dany cried again, holding onto her mother and never wanting to leave. Rhaella let her weep, murmuring sweet nothings into her ear to soothe her, but then she took a step back, cupping her face with her hands.

There was still that soft smile on Rhaella's lips, but her eyes held a gleam of determination, and in her voice sounded a warning. "As much as I would want you to, you can't stay here, Daenerys. This is not your time, yet."

"But I just found you-"

"I would scold you if you didn't already pay the price for your recklessness. I belong to the dead, Daenerys, but you... you don't, not yet. You belong to the world, still. You have to go back."

"Can't I stay just a bit longer, mama?" she sniffed.

"Please, my love, it's too dangerous. The more you linger here, the more difficult it will be to go back. It is not your time yet. You still have so much to see, so much to do. You have to _live,_ " Rhaella pleaded. "You will come back when it's time, and not before. Do you promise me, my daughter?"

Dany swallowed, realizing what her mother's words meant.

This beautiful place, the peace it brought to her heart to simply be there, her mother's love she could finally experience... it was easy to get lost in the otherworld.

"I thought I died in the battle," she whispered.

"It was not the battle that killed you, nor that blow to your heart," Rhaella explained. "But the spell... you never understood how dangerous it was, the sacrifice that it asked of you."

"But why now, after all this time?"

"I was never gifted with a witch's powers, my love. I don't understand entirely what happened," Rhaella smiled, stroking her cheek tenderly. "You lost something, right? The day you cursed yourself?"

"Your ring, yes! I'm sorry, mama, but I needed it for the spell. It was the only thing I had left of you."

"And then what happened?"

"I cut my skin, right above my heart, spilling my blood in the fire. I burned the ring, and bathed myself in the flames," Daenerys said, her voice small. "And then I saw a great flash of light, and the ring was gone from my hands. My chest ached terribly, and scales started spreading from the cut."

"And the storm came," Rhaella concluded.

"Aye, the storm came, and I became a dragon."

"That you did," her mother smiled. "Will you promise me, then?"

It was hard to find the will to leave. Dany had never felt such peace as she had in this strange, blessed place, safe in the arms of her mother. Except...

She winced at the thought of Jon, of the desperation in his eyes as he screamed when her own closed on the battlefield. Tears pricked behind her lids again, thinking of the warmth of his embrace, at how happy she felt when she was with him.

Rhaella seemed to sense her thoughts, smiling softly at her.

"We have all of eternity to ourselves, my love. One day, we will be together again, but first, you must live."

"Aye," Dany nodded, drying her tears with the back of her hand. "Aye, I promise, mama."

The warmth of Rhaella's arms snaked around her again, her mother kissing her forehead softly, humming her approval.

"But how do I go back?" Dany asked.

"Why, my dear, with fire and blood of course."

She could feel it then, heat slowly rising in her blood until it felt like the flames were licking at her skin.

Her mother's smile was fading, and the night sky with the strokes of purple and blue and white and the pretty planets, too. The thin white shift she wore disappeared, and the soft grass beneath her feet turned into charred wood and ash.

Dany's nostrils filled with the smell of smoke and burning flesh, making her cough wildly. Before she could raise her palm to her mouth, though, a slight metallic weight materialized into it, feeling cool against her burning skin. She glanced down, gasping in surprise at the sight of the ring that she had lost all those moons ago, the white pearls reflecting the orange glow from the flames that burned all around her like a thick wall.

Dany felt like crying again, but the heat made her tears evaporate before they could fall on her cheeks. Her other hand went to rub at the scar at her heart but found only smooth skin, not a trace of the scales she used to bare.

The spell had worked. It had been a mess, and it was probably only sheer luck that it had, but it worked, and now it was broken.

 _I'm free_ , she thought with a tearful laugh.

_I have to find Jon, I have to tell him. He will be so happy._

Dany slid the ring on her finger, caressing the pearls tenderly for a moment. Then she stood, ready to step out of what looked like her own funeral pyre, grimacing at the sight of the carbonized corpses of the soldiers that were amassed all around.

* * *

It was probably time to go, he inwardly sighed. Most people had already left for the comfort of the castle, but Sansa, Rickon, Ser Davos and Tormund were still beside him, silent companions of his grief.

He appreciated their presence as much as he did their silence. Something felt terribly hollow inside his chest like it had when he had died and come back. Jon didn't really want to talk at the moment, to force the words out of his mouth. He will have to give explanations, at some point, but he wasn't nearly ready for it.

The pyre was still raging high, the smell of smoke and burnt corpses filling his nostrils. He had kept his eyes on the dark contour of the dragon until the fire grew so high he couldn't see her anymore, and still he kept on watching into the flames, transfixed.

Jon suddenly blinked, thinking he could see a human silhouette moving within them, but immediately shook the thought out of his head.

A few moments passed, though, and he could see it more clearly, a lithe figure slowly emerging from the pyre. He gasped, believing himself mad, believing this to be his end.

 _Here she is_ , he thought. _Her ghost, demanding that I do not leave her alone in her death._ Hypnotized, he stepped forward, closer to the raging fire, thinking for a fleeting moment that it was right to return to the nothingness he already knew, that he did his duty, saved his family and his home. _Death would be preferable to this sorrow_.

Oh, how she would scold him if she could hear his thoughts.

But then Sansa gasped as well, stilling his movements. _Does she see her too?_

Daenerys emerged from the flames, naked as the day she was born, save for a silver ring on her finger. Her skin and hair were covered in soot and ash. She was human and whole, porcelain skin unblemished from the flames.

The sun was still high in the sky.

"Jon," she called, her voice a tremble, stepping carefully out of the pyre, landing unsteadily on the fresh green grass.

Before he knew it she was in his arms, for he had moved to engulf her in the fiercest hug he could muster, clutching at her like she was a vision that could disappear at any moment.

"You're alive," he choked against her hair, "Gods, you're alive."

"I am," she smiled. She was so very real, her warm skin under his fingertips, the smell of her, those bright eyes beaming up at him.

Jon cupped her face in his hands, gazing at her in wonder. "How?" he asked in a whisper.

"It's a long story," she murmured. "But I suppose I should thank you for giving me fire and blood. I don't know if I would have made it back otherwise," she nodded towards the pyre.

Jon exhaled, still disbelieving. There would be time for explanations later, though, and so he kissed her, hard and long and deep, making her whimper.

When their lips parted, she looked flushed and happy, a blush taking hold of her cheeks.

"I thought I lost you," he exhaled.

"I'm sorry-" she began, but he cut her off with his lips on her own once again, before wrapping her in his cloak and hoisting her up in his arms, making her giggle wildly as he marched towards the castle amidst the astonished looks of his family.

Jon ignored them all. He carried her inside and placed her gently on the ground.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, concerned, dubious that she would want to be visited by a maester even if she was injured. He pulled the hem of the cloak slightly to peek at her breast, making her blush and giggle furiously. Not only was there no trace of the terrible wound that took her down from the sky, but the scaly scar was gone as well, leaving soft unblemished skin in its wake. "How? The scar-"

"Where to begin?" she sighed, but the happy smile never left her face. "I'm afraid it will take a while to recount the whole tale..."

"Let's find you a room," he murmured, placing a kiss on her forehead. They heard steps behind them and turned to find his sister striding up to them, a confused expression on her face. "Jon, will you ever explain to me what is happening?"

"My sister, Lady Sansa Stark," he nodded to Dany, sighing. "Sansa, this is Dany. She's the witch I told you about."

Sansa blinked, mouth agape, a disbelieving expression on her face.

"I promise we'll explain everything, but we need to find her a room first."

That seemed to snap his sister out of her stupor. "This way," she sighed, starting up a staircase. Jon and Dany followed her silently, hands entangled tightly.

He still couldn't believe it was true, that she came back to him alive and whole and unhurt, and that the spell was now broken. He almost dreaded to blink or to tear his eyes away from her even just for a moment, fearing this was just a trick of his grieving mind, a madness to spare him the pain, so he tightened his grip on her warm hand. Jon relished in the contact, in the confirmation that she was real despite being as beautiful as only a vision could be.

It was only when they were left alone inside the chamber that Sansa had designated for them, that he hugged her again, caressing her face before kissing her deeply.

"What happened, Dany?" he asked, his expression suddenly full of concern.

"I..." she gulped. "I'm not entirely sure. The curse, it's like that blow finally made the spell work."

"The spell you tried all that time ago?"

"Aye. I found myself in a dark place, but my steps had a purpose. I followed the path they indicated, and at the end... I found my mother."

"Did you?" he prompted, stroking her cheek tenderly. Dany took a deep breath before she told him of the encounter she had with the dead Queen.

"It's strange. I-" he gulped. "I didn't see anything when I was- you know-"

"Mayhaps it was because of my powers, of the spell I made. Mayhaps I reached a place that you didn't have time to," she whispered softly, caressing his beard.

"Mayhaps," he conceded, tightening his hold around her waist. "I don't know what I would have done if you didn't come back to me."

"But I did," she whispered.

"Aye, you did," Jon smiled.

"I won't live in fear again, Jon. I did it for so long... and I'm finally free now. I don't have to hide anymore."

"I sure hope so, or else it will be difficult to explain what happened today out there," he pensively stated. "People are going to piece together who you are just by looking at you."

"Let them know," she murmured, chin held high, but still, he could see the lingering uncertainty in her expression. "I'm not alone anymore, am I? Will you protect me if they come for me?"

"As if the Lannisters need to give me one more reason to want to destroy them," he growled. "I'll never let them get to you, Dany. The North will never let them." His voice softened, thumbs going to graze at her cheeks. "You'll be safe."

Dany smiled, stepping on her toes to reach his lips with her own. He let himself be lost in the sweet taste of her mouth again, in the feeling of her warmth in his arms.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, a young girl peeking in, holding a tray of food in her hands. "Lady Sansa has sent this for the... guest, Lord Snow," she explained. "And she has ordered a bath drawn as well."

Jon groaned, eliciting a light giggle from Dany. He dreaded to be separated from her so soon after being reunited, but Dany was probably hungry and tired, not to mention still covered in soot. He gave her a last promising kiss before leaving her to the care of the handmaiden, heading instead to search for his siblings.

He knew he would have to give some explanations after all the unbelievable things that had happened, and considering how little he had disclosed before.

_Where to even begin, though?_

He asked around where he could find his siblings, only to be directed towards the Godswood. Sansa and Rickon were sitting in the same spot their father used to pray, engaged in quiet conversation, but they both abruptly stopped when they caught sight of his approaching figure.

Sansa all but jumped up and ran towards him, her tone one of impatience as she demanded to know what in the world was going on. Rickon was silent, but his face was lit with curiosity as well.

Jon sighed, inviting Sansa to sit back down, and began the tale.

* * *

Sansa had witnessed her fair amount of the unexpected in her life, but the story that her brother had just told her was borderline incredible.

Raising a hand to knock on the wooden door, she gulped down her anxiety. She had never met a witch before, not that she knew of, and the horrifying sight of the black dragon still haunted her thoughts.

She knew the strange woman that had emerged from the flames had adamantly refused to be seen by a Maester, merely asking for something to cover herself with. Jon had fussed over her until he had left her alone to bathe and now he was with Rickon, trying to get to know again the brother she had thought lost. Sansa saw her opportunity to approach the new resident of their castle.

A witch.

A Targaryen princess, if Jon was to be believed, the last of her dynasty.

The petite woman opened the door, blinking at her with big violet eyes before casting her a shy smile. Her hair was damp from the bath, all traces of soot and ash gone from her pale skin, and she was still clad in Jon's cloak, a fact that Sansa was here to rectify.

"My Lady," the princess smiled, eyeing the bundle of fabric in Sansa's arms.

Sansa wasn't sure what was the appropriate way to address her, still feeling confused at all that happened since the battle, and so she opted for a slight curtsey. "I brought you some clothes-" What was she? Her Grace? The Targaryens didn't hold the crown anymore, but she was still a Princess by blood. She finally decided for "My Lady," and was relieved when the Princess nodded, shifting so that Sansa could step into the room.

"I thank you, Lady Sansa. My clothes are all still in Queensgate. I'm afraid it will take time to retrieve them, now that I can't fly anymore."

"They might be a bit large for you, but that's all I could find."

"It's alright," she smiled, taking the bundle from Sansa's arms gracefully. "I like the colour." The gown Sansa had chosen was a dusty blue embroidered with tiny white leaves of silver thread and pearls.

"Shall I call for the handmaidens again?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I'm used to doing it by myself," she explained before disappearing inside a small antechamber.

Sansa paced the room slowly as she waited, still wary, yet somehow fascinated by the creature of magic that was currently dressing in her own gown. The battle had been won easily thanks to her help, Sansa was sure that Rickon would be dead if it wasn't for the distraction of a dragon descending from the sky. She had stepped out of the flames after being thought dead, unscathed and the most beautiful woman she ever saw.

The truth of her heritage was clear in her features, for the young woman looked exactly like Maester Luwin had always described the Targaryens to be: silver-gold hair, purple eyes, an otherworldly quality to her beauty. And then, to take the semblance of a _dragon_... it was proof enough of the fact that she was who she claimed to be.

Sansa sighed, glancing out of the window, fidgeting restlessly. Was it wise to trust the Mad King's daughter, especially considering her powers?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the antechamber's door opening again, the subject of her musings stepping out of the threshold.

She had to bite her tongue not to chuckle at the sight. The poor girl was drowning in her gown, the excess fabric making her movements look funny.

"We can have it modified in the next days-"

"It's lovely!" Daenerys beamed, caressing the fabric of the skirt with careful gestures.

"The colour suits you, my Lady."

"Please, call me Dany. Thank you for the dress, Lady Sansa."

"Of course," she nodded.

The witch stepped closer to her. "Can I braid your hair?"

Sansa blinked, not sure if she heard right. "What?"

"I asked, can I braid your hair?"

The unexpected request made Sansa still her movements, eyeing the other woman warily, but she could only see hope lightening the Targaryen's eyes, a sense of eagerness, mayhaps? _She was alone all of her life, Sansa,_ Jon's words resonated in her ears.

"I... I would love that," she murmured, the tension in her shoulders easing at least a little when Daenerys' face broke into the brightest smile as she nodded towards the vanity at the corner of the room.

Sansa sat down, letting Daenerys dip her fingers into her hair, brushing the tresses lightly before she started to plait them.

"There will be... a celebration, tonight at supper," she began, feeling her body slowly relax under the princess' ministrations. It had been a very long time since another person had braided her hair, the feeling more comforting than what Sansa remembered it to be. "You should sit at the high table with us. We wouldn't have our home and our brother back if it wasn't for you."

"I'm glad I could help. I wasn't sure if our plan would work, but I'm glad it did."

"Why did you help us, anyway?" Sansa couldn't help but ask after a long moment of silence.

"I promised it to Jon. The promise of a witch is sacred," Daenerys murmured, closing the braid with a thin leather strap. "I pledged him my help because he deserved it."

"You love him." It wasn't a question. Sansa could see Daenerys' reflection on the mirror smile as she fluttered her hands over her auburn hair, taming the flyaways and smoothing down the intricate pattern of braids.

"Aye, that I do," she softly confirmed. "There, all done. You look beautiful, Lady Sansa. Your hair has such a pretty colour."

"As does yours, Lady Daenerys," she couldn't help but smile back.

 


	10. I Put a Spell on You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 🎵 ...'Cause you're mine... 🎶

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so, fun story: the "final chapter" completely spiralled out of my control while I was writing it and I realized I needed more space than what initially planned. So yeah, there will be one more! I thought nobody would really complain about it, after all. 😁
> 
> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza.
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

 

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU

 

When Dany and Sansa finally reached the great hall, Jon was already waiting for them at the high table, a smile spreading on his face as he saw the two of them approach together. Rickon was absent, currently resting in his chambers under the care of a maester. His young brother still needed to heal, both physically and mentally, from everything that happened to him during his long period of captivity. The idea of being in a hall full of raucous men had unsettled him greatly, and Jon and Sansa had agreed it was best to let him rest for now.

The majority of the Lords were already gathered in the room, although some were still trickling in, ready to celebrate the Starks conquering their ancestral home back from the usurpers.

Sansa sat down at Jon's left, while he motioned for Dany to sit at his right.

Daenerys glanced around, looking uncomfortable amidst all the scrutiny, every pair of eyes studying her with expressions Jon couldn't quite decipher. He sat down when the doors to the hall were closed, the Lords soon following his example. Silently, he slid a hand under the table to grasp her own, giving her a slight, reassuring squeeze.

The fur-clad Free Folk stood at the sides, earning some menacing scowls from a few of the Lords. Dany received a few wary glances as well. She let out a slow exhale before straightening her spine, meeting the gazes of those who were looking at her with her chin held high.

“My Lords and Ladies,” Jon began, his voice resonating loudly as a hush fell over the hall, every head turning to pay attention to his speech. He raised a horn of ale in toast, nodding at the gathered crowd. “Thank you for being here. Today is a day of celebration. All of us gathered here fought together, fought bravely, and won together. Winterfell is once more the seat of the Starks!”

There were cheers in the crowd at Jon's exclamation, some of the men loudly banging their fists against the wooden tables.

“Is that the witch?” spat a voice up front, scowling fiercely down at Dany. Jon immediately tensed.

“Aye, she's the one who aided us in this battle, Lord Mazin,” he scowled back, a glower in his eyes that made the Lord bite his tongue and sit down. “My father used to say that we find our true friends on the battlefield. Every one of us here gave their contribution. House Stark, House Mormont, House Hornwood, House Mazin, the Free Folk-” there was some muttering between the Lords, but the warriors from beyond the Wall cheered at that, “- and Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”

The hall erupted in noise. Jon supposed that some had already figured out who Dany was and that rumours were spreading, but to have it confirmed with such certainty seemed to have thrown the Lords into a frenzy. The Free Folk observed impassible, Tormund shaking his head slightly in wry amusement.

He chanced a quick glance to his right. Dany was biting her lip, knuckles white and tight in her lap, but her gaze didn't shy from the judgement of the Lords.

“I lived in fear for long enough,” she had told him merely hours ago, before lamenting in a fit of giggles that he was squeezing her with his fierce hug. Letting her go had been almost physically painful, the irrational side of his mind fearing that she would disappear in the flames once again if he loosened his hold on her, but she had laughed, begging him to let her take a bath at least.

Still, Jon worried for her. He knew her determination was iron-strong, but he still felt the need to protect her, to shield her from the judgement and the danger her name bore.

“Quiet!” Jon stood, banging his fist on the table. “Lady Daenerys is our ally, my Lords. We owe her our victory. You will show her respect, or you will face the consequences of your insolence!”

“My Lords,” Sansa called, rising gracefully from her seat. “I know that this is an unprecedented alliance, and I do understand your concerns, I truly do. But I can promise you that Lady Daenerys' presence among us can only benefit the North.” Jon shot a surprised glance at her, finding her unflinching and determined. “Many enemies still linger South. It's only a matter of time before the Lannister rule tries us out, and we will be grateful for the help when that time comes.”

The wooden chair at his right scraped lightly on the floor, then, Dany's silver head rising to her full height. Her voice wasn't as loud as Sansa's had been when she spoke, but it never wavered. "My Lords and Ladies of the North," she began, Lyanna Mormont nodding appreciatively at her acknowledgement, "I'm aware of the weight of my name as well as that of my powers. I'm not here to harm the North, but only to give back the kindness I received from its most honourable warrior." She cast a fleeting glance at him, then, the corners of her lips upturning in a shy smile.

“I'm a Targaryen, it's true, but I want to remind you that I had a mother as well as a father.” There were a few nods around the crowd, some of the men clearly old enough to remember the beloved Queen Rhaella. “I'm a witch as well, and that makes my promises sacred. I will promise you one thing: as long as I will have nothing to fear from the North, the North will have nothing to fear from me.”

There was reassurance as well as a veiled threat in her promise, Jon noticed, fighting back a smile. Even without the scales and horns, Dany had the fierceness of the dragon in her. “I won't live in fear,” she had promised him on the way to Queensgate, and again after the pyre had burned down. A sudden surge of admiration fueled the love he already felt for her, making him gulp uncomfortably, for he couldn't really kiss her before this unruly crowd. _Not yet, at least_.

“Well,” Tormund broke the heavy silence, making a few people startle in surprise. “We don't know much about your... houses and whatever the hell happened that makes y'all so prickly. But I saw that dragon as well as y'all did, and if the silver lady here tells us we can be allies, it's good for us Free Folk,” he smirked. “We fought for you. We don't care if you don't like us, let us settle in the lands and we'll be no bother. We ain't no kneelers, but the Free Folk follow the strong, and we will answer to no Southerner other than the Dragon Lady and King Crow.”

“King!” Lord Mazin shot. “He's no King!”

“He should be,” Lady Lyanna spoke, rising from her seat with a ferocious scowl. “The Boltons accepted to be Wardens to the Lannisters, but did we all forget what the Lions did to the North?” she asked. “The North remembers! House Mormont will not accept bowing to the Lions! It's time that we had a King in the North again!”

Jon's eyes widened in surprise, casting an incredulous glance to Sansa, but she merely smiled back at him, a satisfied grin on her face.

“It was the Dragons that the North bowed to, and the Dragons are here, alongside the Wolves,” spoke Lord Hornwood. “Lady Lyanna has the right of it, the North remembers. It remembers the Mad King and the Rebellion, but the old cunt is dead and gone, and a Mad Queen now sits on the Iron Throne, her hands bathed in Ned Stark's blood. If the Targaryen witch promises us her protection, I say we'd be fools to refuse it in the name of a war that happened long before she could have a say in it. House Hornwood stands with the Starks and their allies!”

“My father's trueborn son still lives, my Lords-” he began, but Sansa interrupted him.

“He does, all thanks to you and Lady Daenerys. But my brother Rickon is in no fit state to rule, he's too young and inexperienced, and the long time of captivity left his mind weak. He needs to heal, and we need a strong ruler.” She turned towards him, an earnestness in her eyes that made his heart melt. “You should wear the crown, Jon. You protected our home and our family in the time of greatest need. You rallied the North and fought the usurper from our ancestral seat.” Her voice softened before she added, “Father would be proud of you.”

He could see Dany casting a smile at him from the corner of his eyes, but he could only look on as the gathered Lords raised their swords in the air, chanting “King in the North! King in the North!” His sister was chanting as well, and Dany's smile was so bright and proud, that for a moment he forgot all of his worries. Even the Free Folk were cheering, Tormund raising a horn in the air and toasting to “King Crow”.

For once, his heart burst with their chants, and it did not think it was unbecoming of him to _want_.

For once, he could convince himself that he _deserved_ something.

"We shall summon the deserters," he finally spoke, his voice assuming the commanding tone that he used back at the Wall before he was betrayed by the men he called brothers. "House Glover, House Manderly, those who didn't fight in the battle. They will come to Winterfell and swear fealty to the Starks, or face the Northern justice for betraying their vows."

The hall cheered at that, a feral glint in the eyes of the hardened warriors that filled the room.

“And the heirs of the Lords that fought for the Boltons. Harald Karstark and Smalljon Umber were slain in the battle. I will have their heirs swear fealty to Winterfell once again, with all of you bearing witness.”

More cheers followed, more shouts of his name next to the new title he just gained.

“All good and true, King Crow,” Tormund laughed, raising his horn. “But I was lured here thinking there would be a feast.”

“Indeed, Tormund Giantsbane,” Jon smirked, raising his own horn towards his old friend. At his signal, food and ale began to be served, and soon the celebrations roared.

When he chanced a glance at Dany again, he found her watching him. “King,” she mouthed, her smile hidden behind the brim of her mug.

He merely shrugged, feeling a blush taking hold of his face as he did. It felt unreal, but the pride in her eyes helped him silence the tiny voice in his head that still thought him unworthy.

* * *

Jon had snatched her away from her chambers in favour of his own, that night, carrying her over his shoulder and making her laugh.

"Shhh, or they will hear you," he said, bolting the door and tossing her on the bed.

“Is my King ordering me to keep silent?” she giggled, feigning a scandalized expression.

“I hardly feel like a king,” Jon admitted, kissing her softly along her neck.

Dany sighed, her warm hands coming up to cup his face, forcing his gaze upwards so that it could meet hers. “I think you will make a fine king,” she seriously stated. “I know it must feel frightening, but you are the best fit for the role I can think of. Everything that your sister said is true, Jon. You deserve to wear the crown, and I have no doubts you will be a great ruler for the North.”

“You aren't really expecting me to wear a bloody crown, are you?” he scowled, causing Dany to laugh.

“Well, it would make for quite a fetching sight,” she murmured, gaze growing heated. “A crown of iron and obsidian to sit over these unruly curls and make all the girls in the North _swoon_ when their king passes by.” Her hands dipped in his hair, tugging lightly at the locks, and he groaned.

“I don't know... They say a terrifying witch fancies the king as well. It doesn't seem wise to risk her wrath,” he cheekily rebutted, silencing the protest about to pour from her lips with a scorching kiss.

“Mhh,” she moaned against his mouth. “Maybe you're right. I heard she's the jealous sort.”

“Is she? What is she gonna do? Lock the poor king up in a tower?”

Dany giggled as his hands deftly unlaced the bodice of her ill-fitting gown. "Don't give me ideas, Jon Snow. I got used to having you all to myself back at home, and you had to go and make them crown you King," she sighed. His mouth ventured on her breast, sucking on a nipple until it tightened between his lips and her breath became ragged. "You will barely have the time for me anymore, and soon all the pretty daughters of the North will start throwing themselves at you."

Jon scoffed, casting her an incredulous glance. "The same ladies who would sooner be caught dead than talking to me, the Bastard of Winterfell? Let them try. I'll take a horrible witch over them any day." He bent to kiss her again, moving his lips softly over hers. Her mouth opened, granting access to his tongue. Jon ventured a hand underneath her skirts, making her moan in his mouth when his fingers softly stroked her folds.

“They're stupid little people if they could never see past your name, Jon. You're so much more than your name...”

Jon's movements came to a halt. He tore his lips away from the spot where he had been peppering kisses and little bites, a slight pink mark already blooming on the pale skin of her neck. He looked at her, violet eyes full of love gazing back at him, the smile on her face so warm and content it made him want to weep. He had almost lost her, he had thought he had to live this life without her by his side, and he didn't like what that kind of life looked like. Not one bit. A sudden surge of possessiveness took hold of him, so fierce it couldn't be ignored. He wanted to bask in her presence for the rest of his life, never having to be parted again.

“Promise me you'll be mine,” he begged. “Forever.”

Daenerys smiled softly at him, her fingers threading lightly with the curls at the nape of his neck. “That's too heavy a promise to ask of a witch, my love,” she murmured. “But I already gave you my heart. Treat it right, and I'll make you a happy man, Jon Snow. This I can promise.”

“Marry me anyway?” he whispered, entranced by the way her fingers were fluttering lightly all over his neck, his face, his lips.

Dany's beautiful face broke into a grin. She watched at him intently, biting her lip.

“Won't you regret marrying a horrible witch?” she teased, the humour in her voice not completely concealing the tremble of insecurity underneath.

"Never!" He leaned forward, placing his lips over hers in a sweet kiss. "I would have wanted you even with the scales and horns and all, and never questioned it."

She giggled under his kisses, trying to talk in between the pecks of his lips. “I don't think that the Northern Lords will be too happy about this, Jon.”

“I don't care what they think. If they don't like it, they can take Sansa as their Queen and leave me be,” he sighed, his face growing serious and brooding. “I already _died_ for duty, once, Dany. I know the burden that ruling brings, even if I never had to deal with an entire kingdom before. It's a lot of sacrifices that one needs to make, but... not you. They can't ask me to let go of you.”

Dany's smile widened even more, if that was even possible, so bright and happy it was almost blinding. She bit her lip, looking almost shy, a beautiful blush taking hold of her cheeks. "Alright then, King Snow. I guess I can't really tell you no at this point-"

"None of the teasing, little dragon," he interrupted her, placing a finger on her lips. His voice softened when he continued, "I need to know that this is what you _want-_ ”

“Of course it is, you silly man!” she laughed. “Unless you were planning to send me back to my clearing, that's it.”

“Now don't be ridiculous.”

She scoffed, arching an eyebrow at him, leaning on her elbows to sit up. “I'll marry you, Jon Snow. I'll do it because there could be none for me but you. I'll marry a king or I'll marry a bastard, but I'll marry the man I love.”

Jon doubted he could love her more, and yet Dany always managed to surprise him. A tight knot formed in his throat, rendering him unable to speak, so he let his body talk instead of his mouth. His hands went to cup her face softly, gently, like the precious thing she was. He closed his eyes as his lips tasted her own, the sweet stroke of her tongue he had barely started to know, but that he already couldn't do without.

He supposed she knew what her words meant to him, somehow. How they managed to quell and tarnish the worst of his fears, the omnipresent feeling of never being enough because of the taint in his blood.

She never cared, he realized. Not once did she ever look at him any differently. She had always seen _him_ , heart and soul bared to her violet gaze.

And she did just agree to marry him. Tormund was right, he was indeed a lucky bastard.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips.

“I love you too,” she answered in his ear, a tiny moan escaping her lips as his hands resumed their exploration of her skin.

It took a while to figure out the lacing of her skirts, the cumbersome layers almost making him groan in frustration, but they eventually managed to get her out of them, gloriously bared to his hungry gaze.

She was truly the most beautiful woman he ever saw.

And she just agreed to be his wife.

_Gods._

Her hands soon dipped in his hair again, pulling at the thin leather band until his curls were freed of their restraint. They slid down to the hem of his tunic next, tugging lightly at it until he moved to help her take the garment off. It was then the turn of his boots, breeches and smallclothes, leaving him naked as she was, the contact of skin against skin nearly intoxicating.

Although the curse had been broken, Dany's body was still as hot as ever, the warmth seeping underneath his skin, taming the goosebumps that had erupted at the contact with the chill air of the room.

Her soft breasts were gliding maddeningly against the rugged tissue of his scars, her legs shifting against his own. Her hands were mapping his back and shoulders, tugging him closer.

“ _Jon_ ," she moaned as he slid into her hot cunt, slow and steady thrusts as his lips never separated from her own. Her folds welcomed him inside her, growing slicker as his hips bumped against hers, the erratic pattern of her breath mixing with the moans of his name.

 _Mine, mine, mine_ , that possessive want demanded with each thrust, finding her pliant and warm and as wanting as he was.

Jon let his lips trail along the pulse on her neck and his hand slide on her leg, venturing lower to gently take hold of her calf. He hoisted it up and above his shoulder, tearing away from her just enough to be able to look at her face as he thrust deep into her. She whimpered and moaned at the change in their position, struggling to keep her eyes open, cheeks aflame. Her hands fluttered along his ribs, blunt fingernails digging lightly in his flesh, heightening his arousal.

What a sight she was, all flushed and messy beneath him, hips frantically bucking against his, searching for her release. Her eyes fluttered closed, face beautifully contorted, lips parted in a silent gasp. The hand that was holding her leg slowly travelled to her face, brushing her cheek. "Look at me," he panted, the slow steady rhythm of their coupling a distracting force.

She opened her beautiful eyes, pupils blown wide and dark. Jon slid his hand down to cup her chin, his thumb probing at her lips, seeking for the stroke of her tongue.

He slid his wetted thumb down after she complied, circling her swollen nub and making her mewl. Her nails dug even further in his flesh, eyes shutting close. “No, look at me,” he pleaded, voice breaking into pants. “I want to see you come undone, my beautiful Queen.”

Dany bit her lip, struggling to keep her lids open, and erupted in a wail as the movements of his thumb grew faster. Her hips arched against his own, the tight clutch of her cunt on his cock causing him to follow her over the edge, groaning loudly.

Jon slumped down beside her, spent and sated, blindly seeking the warmth of her body. It took a moment to regain his wits, her hot breath fanning against his neck the first thing to break into the haziness of his mind.

He tore back slightly then, brushing away wisps of silvery hair from her brow. “You alright?”

She hummed, blinking lazily. “I've never felt better,” she murmured, shifting flush to him.

They drifted asleep in each other's arms, skin against skin, the beating of her heart a comforting sound in his ears. _This is how I want to fall asleep every remaining night of my life_ , Jon thought as he hugged her closer.

* * *

Sansa was standing on the ramparts, her gaze steadily fixed on the courtyard below. The faint morning sun was filtered by the thick clouds above, casting an eerie grey light on her surroundings. She couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips when she heard what almost sounded like laughter coming from Rickon's mouth.

Although Sansa couldn't hear Daenerys' words from her position, she could see that her little brother was completely raptured by the story the princess was telling him, or more specifically, by the figures created by the levitating flames that she summoned to illustrate it. It was unsettling as it was fascinating to observe the tiny woman shape the fire at her will, now in the form of a direwolf, then in that of a flower.

There was no wonder that she had managed to make even her sullen older brother so smitten. Daenerys was the picture of loveliness.

It was such an enthralling sight that it almost distracted her from Jon's words. _Almost_.

"Absolutely not, Jon," she stated, resolute.

"Sansa, I'm not asking your permission. I'm going to marry her whether I have your approval or not," he bristled. "Besides, she saved our brother, helped us get back our home. This hostility-"

"It's not that, you fool. You can't marry her _tonight_ ," she specified with a tired sigh.

"And why's that?"

"Well, I can't have a wedding gown made before nightfall, can I?" Sansa explained, irritated.

_Men never think about these sorts of issues, yet still manage to complain when nobody else does it in their stead._

“Besides, whether you feel like it or not, you are a King now,” she added.

“I don't want the crown if I have to let go of her.”

“I can respect that,” she said. “But already some of the Lords are going to raise objections to your choice of a Queen, especially those who hoped to secure the title for their daughters. You _have_ to do things properly, to appease formality at least in some measure. This will be a _royal wedding_ , Jon. Form matters.”

She turned towards him before continuing, her gaze fixed on his own. "It's best to have as many Lords as possible to witness your union so that they can't complain later on. You have already summoned the remaining ones to come here to swear fealty to our House and witness to your coronation, you could hit two birds with one stone and have the wedding when they're all gathered in Winterfell."

Her brother looked properly chastised, sighing heavily as he leaned against the balcony rail, glancing down at his betrothed and their brother with the softest look Sansa had ever seen on him.

"Right, I suppose that's a fair point." There was a beat of silence during which they both contemplated down in the yard, then he asked: "What are we going to do, then?"

"I might have her gown ready in a fortnight if I modify a dress instead of making a new one. Don't expect for her maiden cloak to bear any sigil, though, in such a short time."

Jon chuckled, shaking his head. Sansa had already figured he would not care about that.

"I have a dress that might do the trick," Sansa continued. "The fabric is a deep red velvet, if I add some black detailing it will be perfect to represent the colours of her House. Then there's the feast. Food has to be prepared, the hall needs to be decorated... everything will be ready in a moon turn, give or take. The remaining Lords should have arrived by that point."

Jon groaned, although that smitten smile still graced his lips. “Is this all really necessary? The North has always favoured simpler ceremonies than the South, after all. I don't think the Lords will care too much.”

"It's better if you let me decide that, eh? I have a feeling I can't trust the groom with the preparations." She glanced down again, where Daenerys was now chasing Rickon in the mucky courtyard, giggling in a very unladylike manner, a bit of mud splattering at the bottom of her skirts. "Or the bride, by the looks of it," Sansa sighed, rubbing her forehead in frustration.

Jon laughed under his breath, smiling like a fool.

"It's good, you know? To see you so happy," she murmured, softening at the sight of her stoic big brother looking disgustingly in love. "It's not every day that you see such a broody man snatch a princess," she jested.

"Aye," he chuckled. "Better to hurry up with the preparations before she realizes her folly."

Judging by the tremendous amount of time that Daenerys had spent mooning over him just that morning at breakfast, Sansa doubted that was going to happen anytime soon. "There might be problems, you know?" she pensively said, her tone growing more serious.

"What do you mean?"

"With Cersei. Word will spread of what happened here. Tales of a dragon fighting for Winterfell and of a silver-haired woman emerging from the flames might already be on their way South as we speak."

"I know," Jon said. "But what can we do now? Robert Baratheon is dead, Tywin Lannister is dead. Cersei is dangerous, aye, but we have our home back, and the fealty of all those who have witnessed her sacrifice. We have an army," he stated, resolute. Then, his voice softened and he turned to look at her, almost pleading her. "We have to protect her."

"Of course," Sansa sighed. "That's out of discussion, after what she did for us. We owe her our brother's life. I'm just... worried. I wonder if it was wise to declare her true identity so openly."

"She's hidden long enough," he murmured.

Sansa bit her lower lip, mulling over all that happened in the last three days. She observed the Targaryen princess, her clear Valyrian traits, the flames that she kept summoning to amuse their traumatized brother. She appreciated that, too. Rickon seemed to need the distraction.

She had been wary, at first, carefully studying the woman that had her brother so devoted, but as hard as she searched she couldn't see any lies within her. Daenerys had thanked her with a beaming smile when she had offered her a bath and a dress and had even volunteered to braid her hair in return. _Quite charming, indeed_.

Sansa couldn't completely trust her yet, but she didn't see a reason not to try to know her better, for the time being. The poor girl seemed to be yearning affection, and the friendship of a witch might indeed prove a valuable weapon.

"Well," she sighed, straightening her spine. "Even if she can't turn into a dragon anymore, her powers are quite impressive, and I'm sure we haven't even begun to scratch the surface. She might defend us as we will defend her." Jon smiled then, nodding his gratefulness. "And if Cersei Lannister comes to get her, then we will have a chance at revenge knocking at our doors. The lone wolf dies-"

"But the pack survives," he concluded. "Thank you, Sansa."

"Thank me when the dress is ready," she retorted, heading inside to start her work.


	11. Until the End of Our Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Disney ending that was promised, folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moodboard by the lovely aliciutza.
> 
> Betaed by my guardian angels, LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️
> 
> Cute fanart at the end of the chapter by LustOnMyFingers (what did I do to deserve youuuu???)
> 
> (Also, if you haven't seen it already, go back to chapter 5 for more fanart!)

 

EPILOGUE | UNTIL THE END OF OUR DAYS

 

Their betrothal was announced three days later in the great hall, causing raucous cheering amidst the Free Folk and quite some grumbling among the Northern Lords.

Jon and Dany had patiently endured their scrutiny, but when one of the Lords dared to suggest “a more sensible alliance with another Northern House” Jon had silenced him so firmly that the poor fool had flinched and then avoided his King for a whole sennight.

Soon, everyone understood that the betrothal was not to be discussed, and peace returned once more.

Dany was well aware of the circumspect glances that followed her wherever she went, but much to her surprise, it wasn't only Jon that became her staunch defender. The other two Stark siblings sided with her as well, taking care of always involving her in the most disparate matters and to often be seen being amicable with her.

“They're a foolish lot, these _hardened men_ ,” Lady Sansa scoffed one day, side-eyeing Lord Mazin in the distance, sarcasm dripping from her words. “They're merely disappointed because they hoped for their daughters or nieces to be Queen. As soon as the crown will pose on your head, you'll see how fast they will start singing your praise.”

“Bootlickers, the lot of them,” Rickon unexpectedly popped in. The boy had been mostly silent ever since his rescue, but he was slowly starting to interact more with his family. “The only one with an ounce of honesty is Lady Lyanna.”

“Is that so?” Sansa slyly asked, arching an eyebrow at her little brother. Rickon merely frowned, pouting, and Dany exchanged an amused glance with Lady Sansa, biting her lip not to chuckle loudly.

The little Lady Lyanna seemed to have taken sympathy on her as well, for she treated her with the same respect she reserved for the rest of the Starks, which was much more than what she showed to some of the other Lords.

The young Lady often wore a hardened expression and talked with a steely voice, but Dany could catch glimpses of the girl beneath when she asked endless questions about her magical powers. Soon, she became an eager participant of her storytelling sessions with Rickon, when her duties as the Lady of House Mormont let her. Rickon and Lyanna were almost of the same age, and Dany could see that Lyanna's company was being beneficial to the boy.

Daenerys enjoyed telling the stories that Mama Ame had told her when she was a child herself, finally able to relish in the company of other people like she had always dreamt – other than Jon, of course.

Her moments with him still remained her favourites. Jon couldn't act freely in front of the Lords, his patience already worn thin by constantly having to deal with their complaints and demands – “On _every fucking possible matter_ , Dany. If complaining was ever a tourney skill, I'm sure the North would wipe away every other contestant,” he had lamented with a pained sigh – but he always sneaked in her rooms or stole her to his own at night, and made sweet love to her until they were both too exhausted to do anything but bask in the euphoria of each other's presence.

Sometimes he disappeared with her in the Godswood even during the day, to enjoy the peace and quiet of the sacred, beautiful place.

Daenerys spent a lot of her time in the Godswood, for it was the place that most reminded her of the clearing, of her forest. It was the place where she could better feel the presence of the Gods.

A part of her missed her small comfortable shack, the place she had called home for her entire life, but she didn't regret ever leaving its safety. A new life was beginning for her in Winterfell and it was one she was looking forward to. She never needed to be alone anymore. She had a new family, now.

* * *

Sleep had never come easy to him, although the warm weight of Dany pressed against his side helped matters.

His brother's ghost had never visited him again, as he had promised, but still, Jon had often restless dreams. Sometimes it was a dragon falling from the sky, the massive black body transforming into a silver-haired girl just before her lifeless form would crash against the ground. Other times, it was a sharp blade slicing through his heart, the blood seeping away until he would wake up covered in cold sweat. When it happened, he would always drag Dany closer to him, hugging her tightly, letting her heartbeat and steady breathing lull him into a calmer, more peaceful sleep.

Sometimes he saw her, happy and smiling, memories of the last months, of her bright laughter, of her moonlight tresses sliding in between his fingers. One night, he dreamt of little children with her same amethyst eyes, children that looked a lot like him as well, cuddling their mother and growing up as happy and careless as he had never been.

He dreamt of his siblings as well, of when they were young and unaware of what life had reserved for them. The memories of a childhood long gone filled many a night.

Sometimes, he dreamt he was Ghost, seeing through the eyes of his wolf even though he couldn't always recognize where he was roaming.

Jon hadn't seen him since he left Castle Black to roam south after he returned from the dead, feeling hopeless and lonely.

Ghost had saved him twice, the first time welcoming his fading consciousness beside his own when his body laid dead, and the second by being his anchor, his sole companion in the turmoiled weeks following his resurrection. He had kept Jon grounded, had kept him sane until they left each other in the woods around Winterfell, the direwolf not eager to follow his master south, where the weather was far too warm for his taste.

Despite that, Jon had dreamt of inhabiting his skin many nights, those dreams always comforting to him.

Through his eyes, he explored the woods of the North, saw trees and rocks and endless fields of snow. One time, he stumbled upon a frozen river, another, he found refuge in a dark cave that smelled of damp earth and salt. He often followed the traces of animals to hunt: it wasn't unusual for Jon to wake up to the faint phantom taste of blood in his mouth, leaving him slightly nauseated until breakfast.

That night, though, something was different. That night, Jon could see Winterfell through Ghost's eyes.

He instantly jolted awake, breathing heavily. Dany barely stirred, her body wrapped around his own in a possessive way. Any other day, Jon would've stayed a bit longer to bask in the contact or wake her up with his lips on her skin until it would turn into something more, but not today.

He tried to inconspicuously move from under her, but just when he thought he got away with it, she let out a sleepy whine, cracking an eye open to peer at him.

"Where you goin'?" she muttered, the words half drowned by the pillow her face was pressed into.

It made him chuckle, the sight of her so adorable it squeezed his heart in his chest. "Out. There's someone I need to see."

She frowned, eyes narrowing at him. "Do I need to be jealous?"

He laughed then, bright and open, shaking his head in amusement. "No, I don't think so. Actually, you should come with me."

Dany blinked, lazily coming to a sit on the bed, although curiosity shone in her eyes. "Why don't you just tell me-"

"It's a surprise," Jon smiled. "One that you will like, I promise."

She nodded and stood to get dressed, although he had to force himself not to laugh at the wary glances she kept casting at him. Once they were both ready, he took her hand and guided her outside the castle gates, all the way to the Wolfswood.

Dany's confused frown grew with every step they took, but she followed him nonetheless.

The deeper Jon delved into the woods, the more his consciousness welcomed Ghost's, the bond pulling at him, giving him direction. His old friend, his other half, had indeed come back home.

She saw him first though, a gasp leaving her lips, her movements coming to a sudden halt. Ghost was standing still amidst the trees, eerie red eyes fixed on the both of them. His fur almost blended with the snow around, and it seemed as he had grown even bigger since the last time Jon saw him.

"Ghost," he called.

The wolf's tail started wagging madly then, and he sprinted forward, toppling into Jon and sending him hard into the ground, tongue licking eagerly at his face.

When he looked at Dany again, he found her standing there, mouth agape. "For all the gods, you told me he was big, but I didn't think this much!" she said, wonder clear in her voice.

"Come closer," he beckoned, extending an arm towards her in invitation. "He won't hurt you, I promise."

"Hello, Ghost," she crooned, slowly approaching the wolf with a raised hand for him to sniff. Ghost eyed her curiously, examining the proffered hand before resuming his wagging and moving to engulf Dany as well. She fell in the snow, laughing happily, stroking Ghost behind his ears.

"Move away, boy. Can't you see how tiny she is?" Jon reprimanded him half-heartedly. "You're crushing her."

Ghost merely threw him an annoyed glance, and Jon could swear he would have rolled his eyes weren't he a wolf. He relented nonetheless, sitting on his haunches to let Dany stand, although he still leaned against her when she resumed her cuddling.

"He's so beautiful," she murmured in a dream-like voice. "I never thought I would meet a direwolf. I used to wonder how big they could be when Mama Ame told me stories about them. And to think everybody thought them to be extinct."

"I thought the same about dragons."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Those are still technically extinct."

"Strange, I could swear I rode one not too long ago," he rebutted with a wink, enjoying the way her entire face flushed bright red. His amused laugh was interrupted by the wet splosh of snow on his face, causing him to sputter, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"Did you just hit me with a snowball?"

"You completely deserved it," she declared, stepping behind Ghost as if seeking protection.

"You know what this means, right, Dany?" he said, crouching to collect some snow as well. "Hitting a sovereign in his home. Tsk... This means _war_."

She giggled then, screeching as she ran amidst the trees, trying to escape his blows and to find good hiding spots from where she could retaliate. Her beautiful laughter filled the air, Ghost trailing happily behind them, ever silent, his tail wagging furiously.

Initially, Jon had resented being brought back. What was the purpose of it all? To be back among the living yet ostracized and alone, a vast hollow residing where his soul should be? His resurrection couldn't have been a random occurrence, it went against everything he was taught, against his beliefs. After wandering and screaming blindly into the void for any guidance, the resounding silence left him to seek clarity elsewhere and it came to him in forms of his previous life. His home, his sister, his little brother, his wolf, pieces of his heart and his life all coming back to him, and the final piece that made him feel whole at last, his love. Dany.

It was almost a shy hope at first, but it grew stronger with the gratitude he felt. The gods wouldn't be so cruel as to give him all of this only to tear it away, and maybe – just maybe – one day he will be able to hold the other siblings he thought lost.

* * *

The rider that had been sent to Queensgate to retrieve her things came back the morning of the day she was to be wed, carrying the few clothes she had packed, her crimson cloak, and, more importantly, uncle Aemon's letters and journals.

Dany had been so elated with having those precious memories back, that she lost herself in them for quite some time before a knock sounded at her door.

“Enter,” she called, reluctantly putting the journals away.

Lady Sansa stepped into the room, a huge bundle of black fabric in her arms and three handmaidens in tow. “Time to begin your preparations,” she sing-songed, looking uncharacteristically cheerful as well. “I have to admit I'm quite proud of how this gown turned out.”

Dany jumped up, trying to take hold of the bundle in the other girl's arms, almost bouncing around in her excitement, but Sansa swatted her hand away. “Ah-ha. Close your eyes.”

Huffing, she complied, the smile never leaving her face. She could hear the ruffling of fabric, then Sansa invited her to look.

Dany blinked, her gaze immediately landing on the splash of crimson that laid now on the furs that covered her bed, and gasped. It was the most beautiful gown that she had ever seen. The shiny velvet almost glimmered in the light that filtered from the window, revealing an intricate floral pattern of a slightly darker shade.

The large skirt opened at the front, cream-white silk peeking underneath. The tight bodice was made of the same rich brocade of the skirt, small shiny white pearls embroidered all over it. A furry black cloak was displayed right beside the dress.

“You see, there wasn't enough time to embroider the cloak, and it didn't seem too wise to me to make such a display of your House's sigil yet,” Sansa explained, fidgeting. “But I thought I could at least represent the Targaryen colours in some way. I'm not sure if this is the right shade of red, but-”

Dany stopped her nervous explanation short, moving to squeeze her arms around the taller girl's waist. "Thank you, Sansa," she sniffed against her chest. "I could never even _dream_ of such a beautiful gown." The other woman froze, body going rigid as a wood plank, but then she slowly relaxed, her arms raising to tentatively hug Dany back.

"I'm glad you like it," she answered with a smile. "Now let's get you into the bathtub so that we can put it on and see how it fits, alright?"

After she bathed, Sansa and the handmaidens helped her into the stunning gown, tying the laces on the back until the bodice fit perfectly. It looked even more beautiful against her pale skin, the dark crimson fabric a stark contrast. Sansa helped her tie the small laces at her wrists and placed a sparkling necklace around her neck. “This is only borrowed, alright? I like this necklace too much to be gifting it to you, but... it goes along well with the dress.”

“It does,” Dany smiled, unable to tear her eyes away from her own reflection in the mirror. She truly looked like a queen, and she wondered if her mother owned gowns similar to the one she was now wearing.

"I'm certain you will come to own lots of jewelry, now that you will be Queen," Sansa murmured, humming as she braided her hair in the Northern fashion. "There, you're ready. Are you nervous?" she asked, surely noticing her ceaseless fidgeting.

“A little, aye,” Dany confessed.

“Not having second thoughts, I hope for my brother's sanity.”

“No, no!” she hurried to explain. “I love your brother, and I know he loves me. This is right. It's just-” her voice lowered, “I don't know how to be a queen.”

Sansa bit her lip, expression shifting from teasing to serious. “I met two queens in my life,” she began. “Both of them incredibly beautiful. One was full of venom and cruelty, and the other...” she drew a long breath, casting her gaze down. “The other was a blooming rose, sweet and kind, and beloved by all. She died too young, but... she would have been a great queen, of that I'm sure.”

Dany reached out a hand to grasp Sansa's own and squeezed lightly.

"I don't know you as well as I would like to, not yet. And I do realize that a part of me is still wary of you because I'm wary of everyone. Even of Jon, at times, as ridiculous as it sounds. But out of those two queens, Daenerys... you're a lot more like Margaery than Cersei, and I know that you will try your hardest to be the Queen that the North deserves.”

Sansa's eyes had become glassy with tears, and Dany could feel her own watering. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I promise you that I'll do my best.”

The red-haired Lady nodded, wiping her tears away furiously. "Alright," she began, her voice forcibly cheerful. "Let's get you down to the Godswood before the anxiety swallows my brother whole."

"Aye," Dany nodded, smiling. "Can you just... give me a moment?"

"Of course," Sansa smiled, stepping just out of the door and closing it behind her.

Finally alone, Dany let out a long, loud exhale, her hands fluttering over her chest. She could feel her heart thumping in her ribcage, a sound so loud she was sure everyone was going to notice. Stepping in front of the looking glass again, she silently observed her reflection.

Nervousness was shrouding her like a veil, and yet she felt, in every fiber of her being, that this was right. Had it been her destiny all along? _A witch, soon a queen_ , she pondered, sliding her hands lightly over the crimson brocade of her skirts. _A witch, like the mother that saved my life, and a queen, like the one who gave it to me._

_Oh, how I wish they could be here._

She was sure they could see her though, from the beautiful afterworld they both lived in.

_I wonder if they are together, now._

"I miss you, mothers," she murmured to her reflection. "I hope you're both proud of me."

When the feeling of tears stung at her eyes, Dany shook her head, banishing her melancholy before Sansa could scold her for crying and making her eyes all red-rimmed.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine. Jon was waiting for her, the mere thought making her smile, happiness bubbling back in her chest.

She was ready. Resolute, she stepped out of the door, snaking her arm around Sansa's elbow and letting the younger girl guide her outside.

* * *

The path to the Godswood had been lit with a number of torches and lanterns, casting a warm golden light on the trees and the snowy terrain.

Jon walked the way there silently, feeling slightly uncomfortable in the too fancy clothes that Sansa had insisted he wore for his wedding. Under the privacy of his bulky cloak, he couldn't help but fidget ceaselessly as he stood in front of the heart tree, waiting for his soon-to-be wife.

The Lords and Ladies were all gathered already, standing at the sides, leaving a path for Daenerys to walk in. She had decided to walk to the heart tree by herself, a decision that Jon could understand.

Sansa was the last to arrive, for she had been with Daenerys to help her with her preparations. His sister, who was wearing a rich gown in the grey and white colours of House Stark, silently walked up to where Rickon stood, the young boy fidgeting with his embroidered jerkin. The sight of his brother, so uncomfortable in his fancy clothes, reminded him far too much of himself, bringing once more a smile to his lips.

It was when a hush fell over the Godswood that he turned, his heart skipping a beat or two at the sight of Dany.

She had always been beautiful beyond speech, but now she truly looked like a Queen, clad in a majestic gown the deep red of her House. The slight crimson train of the skirt was leaving a trail on the snowy path, the front opening to reveal silk of the same colour of the pearls that enriched the bodice and the ring on her hand.

Her snow-white tresses were held back from her face by a braid in the Northern fashion, but for the rest they bounced freely, creating a stark contrast against the sable cloak. But it was her beaming face that made the breath leave his lungs for good, the lovely little dimples on her cheeks that only appeared when she smiled fully, her pale skin stained pink by the cold air of the night, the violet hues of her eyes dancing with joy.

She was smiling at _him_ , looking over the moon because she was about to be _his_ wife, and he was, beyond doubt, the luckiest bastard alive.

And _damn_ , his vision was already going foggy.

Some Lord's voice boomed when she stopped to stand in front of him, but he barely noticed it, too entranced by the adorable blush on her cheeks as she, too, fidgeted with her mother's ring.

"Daenerys Targaryen comes here to be wed," she shyly answered to the voice, looking straight into his eyes and grinning madly. "A woman flowered, trueborn and noble. I come here to ask for the blessing of the Gods."

The same voice from before asked another question, and Dany was watching at him expectantly. _Right. I have to say something as well_. He truly just wanted to scoop her up and kiss her dumb, but this was far too important to fuck up, so he forced the words out of his throat, almost sighing in relief when his addled brain managed to remember what he was supposed to say.

"Jon Snow of the House Stark takes her."

"Will you take this man?"

"Aye," she smiled, not an ounce of hesitation in the way she said the words. "Aye, I take this man."

They clasped their hands together and kneeled in the snow, barely able to tear their eyes away from each other until it was time to close them. His prayer for the Gods was a short one, and more of a thought of endless gratitude than a real prayer. The warm sensation of Daenerys' fingers intertwined with his own was his focus until it was time to open their eyes.

When they stood, Jon unclasped the cloak from Dany's shoulders, wrapping her up in his own instead. _As I did so many times_. The thought made him smile, and he could see her smirking, probably thinking the same. He gently cupped her face in his hands then, giving her a sweet kiss on the lips, lingering for a moment before separating again when he heard a throat clearing at their side.

Sansa had stepped in front of them, a solemn air of authority that somehow fit her. Rickon was right beside her, holding an ornate wooden box in his hands. Sansa uncovered the lid and extracted-

 _Oh gods, not a damned bloody crown_ , he almost groaned. He should have imagined that his sister would have disregarded his dismissal for a crown and have one made all the same.

It was admittingly beautiful, even though he couldn't really see himself wearing it. _Not like I can debate it now_.

Sansa nodded for them both to kneel again, the snow crunching under their weight.

As the crown was lowered closer to his crouched form, he could catch sight of the shiny obsidian that jutted upwards from the simple ring of tarnished iron, like they were spears or swords. _Almost like Dany described it..._

He shot a glance at her then, catching her proud smirk. _Great. My sister and my wife are already conspiring behind my back._

The thought, and especially the knowledge that he could now call Dany his wife, tore a smile from him even as the weight of the crown finally posed on his head.

He noticed her surprised expression, though, when Sansa extracted a second crown from the wooden box, this one clearly meant for the Queen. How in the seven hells his sister had managed to have them ready in such a short time will always remain a mystery to him, but the second crown was even more beautiful than his own, delicate and feminine, made of ornate silver that shone brightly under the torchlight. Specks of amethyst glittered all over it, the colour the same as the eyes of its intended bearer.

Those eyes were now watering as Sansa smiled down at Dany, posing the crown on her head with solemn reverence.

"My Lords and Ladies," Sansa began after stepping back again, her voice rising high in the Godswood. "The North has been vulnerable in the past years. It was sacked and betrayed, tormented and mocked. The North has fought, and the North has bled. It has lost its sons, its daughters, its fathers, its mothers, its brothers, its sisters." She paused, watching the crowd. "Yet, it was never weak. The North remembered, and banded together against the usurpers, against those who would make it bleed anew. It fought, and it won, and today it stands strong again, with King Jon Snow! The King in the North!"

"The King in the North!" the gathered crowd responded to her, cheering.

"And Queen Daenerys Targaryen! The Queen in the North!"

"The Queen in the North!"

"May their dynasty guide the North for a thousand years. Long may they reign!"

"Long may they reign!"

Jon and Daenerys finally stood, and they all hollered and cheered at that, raising their swords in the air and chanting their names.

Dany had a wild grin on her face even as she worried her ring mercilessly, twisting the pearls in her free hand. She was unbelievably beautiful in her crimson dress and shining crown, silver hair tumbling down her shoulders and a lovely flush on her cheeks. She looked so _happy_... emboldened by the cheering crowd, he scooped her up in his arms and kissed her for all to see, more passionate than the one they exchanged before, a promise for when they will be finally alone.

Just as their lips separated, the cheering even louder than before, Jon hoisted her up in his arms, Dany's laughter tickling at his ear, and carried her inside all the way to the great hall.

The feast felt almost like a nuisance to him at the beginning, but for Dany, it wasn't. He realized only halfway through his first cup of ale that this was what she always wanted when she lived in the clearing, but seeing her so happy now, surrounded by new friends and family alike, he could just sit there and observe her for hours on end.

He let her drag him to the center of the hall a few times, to make fools of themselves with their terrible dancing, but they were King and Queen and nobody dared laugh at them, even though there was something like amused aggravation on Sansa's face by the end of it.

Jon danced with her as well, letting her lead, and watched as Sansa did the same with Rickon before encouraging him to ask Lady Mormont to a dance. The young bear had looked almost shocked at Rickon's offer, a frown on her face, but then she had blushed and shyly accepted, looking more like the girl she was in that moment than how she had since Jon knew her.

Daenerys pressed herself against his side in a ruffle of skirts, laughing. Her violet eyes were shining up at him, a happy smile on her face.

"What is it?" he asked after she didn't stop staring at him.

"Are you happy, Jon Snow?" she asked. "Because I really want you to be. Now, and for the rest of your life. It's what you deserve."

His throat constricted. Jon had to look away for a moment, blinking. "Nobody ever asked me that," he murmured.

She seemed a bit indignant, but she pressed on nonetheless. "I wanted to. For the longest time. I just never-"

"I am happy, Dany," he interrupted her nervous display, sliding a hand on her soft skin to cup her cheek. "So much that I realize now that there's a lot I don't know about happiness. I think I'm just starting to learn." He leaned forward to place a sweet kiss on her lips. "We will learn together."

Nothing could tarnish the bliss that he felt, not when he had Dany in his arms, not when she kept whispering in his ear how much she loved him throughout all the feast, and then well into the night when they claimed each other until they were too exhausted to do anything else but collapse in each other's arms.

The burden of his worries went silent for a night. Tomorrow, he will have to deal with the weight of his crown, of the expectations his people had put on him, but the future certainly looked brighter with her by his side.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I can't fucking believe it's over. I'm getting all emotional here... I just love this story more than anything I ever wrote, I'll be honest. I know I will miss it. 
> 
> Thank you all for the continuous support! Thank you for every kudos, every bookmark, comment and shout-out. They all encouraged me to write more, and better. I love you all! 
> 
> (Also, this is the proof that I can actually finish my multichapters. Midnight, you're next.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this chapter, please leave a comment! Your love and support are what helps me transform my spite for D&D into creativity fuel.
> 
> Now and always, fuck canon.


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